
Class 



Book 



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CoBTight«°__X4i 

COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



MY COMPANY 



MY COMPANY 



By 
CARROLL J. SWAN 

Captain Company D 
101st Engineers, mh Division U. S. A. 

At present Major attached to 10th Engineer 
Training Regiment U.S.A. 



WITH ILLUSTRATIONS 




heJRftfflrtaegregaj 



BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

(Cfte 0iuerjji&e prej# Cambri&ge 
1918 



^ 






COPYRIGHT, I91S, BY CARROLL J. SWAN 
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



/.o^O 



DEC -6 1918 



©CU508428 



Dedicated to 

the most loyal, the cleanest 

the bravest, the best soldier in the world 

the American boy in France 

as typified by the boys of 

"MY COMPANY" 





CONTENTS 








I. 


Good-bye, Broadway 1 


II. 


Hello, France . 






. . 14 


III. 








. . 29 


IV. 








, . 44 


V. 








. . 60 


VI. 








. . 92 


VII. 


Our "Rest Camp" . . , 






, . 103 


VIII. 


Fine Arts at the Front 






, . 125 


IX. 








. . 148 


X. 


Where Paris was Saved 






. . 161 


XI. 








, . 193 


XII. 










XIII. 











ILLUSTRATIONS 

The Presentation of the Company's First 
Mascot Frontispiece 

Sergeant "Bert" Fletcher wearing the Old 
Cadet Full-Dress Uniform copied from the 
French Regiment of Soissons .... 30 

Entrance to the Great Cave of Allemant, 
the "Iron Grotto," showing our Masonry 
Work 52 

The Bridge on the Little 60-Centimetre 
Railroad at Pinon 52 

The Ruined City of Pinon 60 

A Sample of our Barbed-Wire Work ... 60 

A French Anti-Aircraft Gun protecting 
"Our Sausage" 68 

A Machine-Gun Position 68 

Wagoner John Coolidge with his Trick Mule 
Jumbo 74 

The King of Outdoor Sports: "A Cootie 
Hunt" 82 

Chart showing the Organization of the 
Company in the Early Spring . . . .104 

Entrance to One of our Machine-Gun Em- 
placements: French and American Com- 
rades-in-arms ENJOYING THE NOON HOUR . 114 / 

One of the Entrances to the Brigade Gen- 
eral's P. C, BUILT INTO A MOUNTAIN IN THE 

Toul Sector 114 

A Bit of our Camouflage W t ork over the 
Observation Post 118 

The Artillery Observation Post in front of 
Montsec 118 



x ILLUSTRATIONS 

Charles P. Mason: A Type of American 
Soldier 122 

A Notice 130 

The American Aeroplane that fell beyond 
our Billet 138 

Barber Shop with all Modern Conveniences 
and Apparatus 142 

Our Barracks at Boucq after a Morning 
"Party" 146 

Our Abri under the Road : Refuge for Artil- 
lery Observers 146 

A Machine-Gun Emplacement in a Converted 
House protecting our Wire: Chaplain 
Edwards (Charlie Chaplin) in the Fore- 
ground 148 

The Supply Department 152 

The Cooking Crew around the "Soup Gun" 156 

Our First Prisoner, the "Class Baby" . . 200 

Corporal Elmer Buswell (Buzzie) . . . 204 

Camping Out : One of our Shacks in the Woods 210 

The Little Village built by the Boches for 
us 236 

Our Cavalry 240 

Our Pack Mules, the "Buckskins," with 
Denny Moore and Wild West Kenny . . 240 

Our Last T. S.: First Sergeant Malcolm W. 
Gagnon Ready for Gas or Anything . . 254 

The Officers 258 

Captain Swan and "Frank," the Pride of 
the Stable 258 

The Non-Coms remaining at the Finish . . 262 

The photographs of the Company's works were taken 
with the Company's photographic outfit, part of the 
equipment of an Engineer company. The other photo- 
graphs were taken chiefly by newspaper correspondents. 



MY COMPANY 



MY COMPANY 

CHAPTER I 

GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 

"Good-bye, Broadway! Hello, France! 

We 're ten million strong. 
Good-bye, sweethearts, wives, and mothers ; 

It wont take us long. 
Dont you worry while we're there; 

It 's for you we We fighting, too. 
So good-bye, Broadway ! Hello, France ! 

We're going to square our debt to you," 

D Company was marching down Huntington 
Avenue for the last time. "Slim' Edwards 
was leading the song. Every one was happy, 
for after months of drilling and training we 
had received sudden orders that day to leave 
for France at once. There had been a mad 
flying around to get all equipment and bag- 
gage loaded and where possible to notify 
father or mother or sweetheart. Many never 
knew we had gone until the next day, when 
the boy could not be found in Boston. In 



2 MY COMPANY 

some ways it was hard, but that stealthy 
night getaway was the best way to go. 

We were D Company, 101st United States 
Engineers. We had formerly been D Com- 
pany, First Corps Cadets of Massachusetts, 
a battalion of Infantry with a proud record 
since 1741: the oldest, and we, of course, 
felt the best, outfit in the service. When it 
looked as if our country was going to war, the 
War Department, needing an Engineer Regi- 
ment in the New England Division, put it up 
to us. So from a battalion of three hundred 
Infantry we changed to a regiment of seven- 
teen hundred Engineers. We sought first a 
Colonel, and fortunately learned through 
Washington of George W. Bunnell, of Wor- 
cester, a West-Pointer ranking high in his 
class, an expert engineer and a born leader of 
men. So it was Colonel George W. Bunnell. 

At this time I was a Shave Tail in D Com- 
pany, later First Lieutenant, and in the fol- 
lowing July my great ambition was realized, 
I was Captain of "old D" with five officers 



GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 3 

and two hundred and fifty men in my com- 
pany. 

Our recruiting campaign was a whirlwind. 
The veterans of the old Corps, a splendid 
group of enthusiasts, gave liberally of their 
time and money. The active men quit busi- 
ness, organized teams, and opened recruit- 
ing stations; we had speakers on the Com- 
mon, at street corners, and in the theaters. 
We sought the men in colleges and engineer- 
ing schools — organized committees in towns. 
The little town of Norwood alone gave me 
thirty-two lads. It was a merry little game 
and great fun for all concerned. 

In the early spring we started training. 
Wentworth Institute, an engineering school, 
turned over their whole plant and personnel 
to us. All that spring and summer the men re- 
ceived engineering training half the time and 
military work the other half. In August, word 
came that the new Tables of Organization 
called for increased numbers in an Engineer 
Regiment. Men from the Coast Artillery of 



4 MY COMPANY 

the other New England States were sent to us 
to fill up quickly to full strength. In D, we re- 
ceived sixty men from Rhode Island, Maine, 
and New Hampshire. The boys welcomed 
these new comrades-in-arms and made them 
feel they were at home. Among these men 
the town of Warren, R. I., gave D Company 
alone twenty-three men. They furnished so 
many to us and to the cause that the town 
was exempted from the draft. The older boys 
would say to these men : — 

"So you're from Warren, are you?' 

They would answer, " No — Warren, R. 7.' : 

Then cheers for Warren, R. I. 

The whole company soon became one great 
big family; no thought of where a man came 
from or what he was before. ' Once a D man, 
always a D man" — a happy phrase they 
coined. 

A few days before our final call came, the 
men themselves published a little book con- 
taining a complete roster, songs and cheers, 
a chronological history of the First Corps 



GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 5 

Cadets from 1741 to September 21, 1917, and 
other items of interest to the men. The pref- 
ace reads : — 

We D Company men are not a bit " stuck 
up," but we do admit we have the best company, 
in the best regiment, in the best division, in the 
best nation in the world. 

That feeling of being the best in everything 
lasted right through our whole campaign. 
It 's the feeling of every true American soldier 
in the service — a feeling of pride in one's 
own outfit that makes for better morale and 
better discipline, and for success. If a soldier 
thinks his own organization is not the best in 
the service, his place is not there; it's in the 
outfit he thinks is better. 

To show you the spirit of our men I'll 
quote something from this little book the men 
themselves wrote : — 

THE D COMPANY SPIRIT 

We D Company men must constantly endeavor 
to perpetuate the honorable traditions of our or- 
ganization and to do this we must cheerfully per- 



6 MY COMPANY 

form the duties which present themselves to us, 
no matter how tedious or irksome they may be. 
It is our privilege to serve our native country in a 
magnificent cause. If a thing is worth doing at all, 
it is worth doing well. Doing well to us should 
mean always doing things a whole lot better than 
is expected of us. 

Let us ever strive to keep up a spirit among our- 
selves which will make us laugh at misfortune and 
smile in the face of the greatest danger. To do 
this we must work every moment to keep D 
Company first in everything. Whether it be the 
routine duties of camp life, or the more supreme 
test of going "over the top," let every one of us 
jump to it like a good fellow and lead the way. 

No one should resent being assigned to any 
duty, no matter what it may be. The more serv- 
ice we can render, the better will be our satisfac- 
tion with ourselves when it is time for us to come 
back to America. We have devoted ourselves to a 
life of service, so we must make that service the 
very best. Let every squad strive to outdo the 
others and let every man endeavor to do a little 
more than his bunk mates. 

Remember, optimism is the best cure for all 
troubles and industry makes time pass swiftly. D 
Company first in everything with a smile for every 
misfortune is our creed. 

The men seemed imbued with this spirit, 
the spirit of loyalty to our country, our or- 



GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 7 

ganization, and each other, and the answer 
to that spirit in a company of men is just one 
thing — Victory! 

Now, shake hands with our little troop. 

CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Principals : 

Captain Carroll J. Swan The Skipper 

Senior 1st Lieut. . .Thomas W. Bailey.. . .Old Tom 

Next 1st Lieut Harry L. Spencer Stubby Harry 

Junior 1st Lieut. . .Frederick L. Warner. .Baby Fred 

Senior 2d Lieut. . . . Harry Cole Big Shave Tail 

Junior 2d Lieut. . . . Robert MacMillan. . . . Little Shave Tail, 

alias Little Mac 

1st Sergeant Parker B. Jones T. S. 

Supply Sergeant . . . Edward F. Walker. . . . Odds and Ends 

Mess Sergeant Enoch W. Lyman .... Skeeter 

Stable Sergeant. . . .Robert W. Davis Old Dave 

Sergeants, 1st class, Duty Sergeants, Corporals, Buglers, 
Cooks, K.P.'s (Kitchen Police), Wagoners, Saddlers, Horse- 
shoers, Orderlies, Dispatch Drivers, and just plain Privates 
(Soldiers). 

256 in the Company 256 

A company about to participate in the 
greatest show ever staged in the history of the 
world. 

The first touch of war enthusiasm came as 
the next morning we sailed down East River 
on barges, and people lined the docks and 



8 MY COMPANY 

buildings and cheered. Those cheers got a 
wonderful counter-attack from our men. 

When we marched over that long gang- 
plank of the good ship Andania (may she rest 
in peace in her grave in the bottom of the sea), 
we realized we were leaving our own beloved 
land for a long time and that many of us 
would never step on those shores again. Yet 
all thoughts were of the future and what it 
had in store for us — not a thought of turning 
back. Our ambition, to be among the first, 
was being realized and we were among the 
first 60,000. 

It was the first ocean voyage for most of us 
and the first time many of the men had ever 
seen the ocean. As they marched on, each 
with a little ticket numbered like this: "F 
Deck No. 128" — they were escorted "en 
masse" to their staterooms consisting of tiers 
and tiers of wooden bunks jammed in to- 
gether with an absolute minimum of aisle 
space. The whole regiment was housed in 
that rather small boat. "Squeak" Harlow 



GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 9 

said, as he climbed over two other men to get 
in his 7 by 3 box: "This reminds me of my 
room at the Copley Plaza, it's so different." 

That first experience with soldiers' accom- 
modations was a lasting one, and all through 
our campaign, when we struck a barrack or 
cave with those tiers of bunks, there would 
be a general chorus of "Here's the old An- 
dania; me for an outside room." 

When the old boat finally cast off and 
moved down the harbor, the crowd bidding us 
farewell cheered and cried "Bon voyage." He 
was a deckhand and had to be there. 

On entering Halifax Harbor, some days 
later, we were greatly stirred by the magnifi- 
cent reception from the British ships there. 
The Jackies lined the decks, the bands played, 
and for the first time we were proud to stand 
at rigid attention and hold our salute to 
"Rule Britannia" and "The Marseillaise" as 
we had done so many times for our own be- 
loved "Star-Spangled Banner." 

When we posted the Submarine Guard, the 



10 MY COMPANY 

men selected were looked upon with envious 
eyes. For years, many of us had done our 
tricks at guard duty against an assumed 
enemy with a feeling of intense seriousness 
and pride. Now, we were up against the real 
thing, an active, actual enemy, and no men 
were ever more keenly alert, or more anxious 
to knock an enemy out, than this guard. 
Each member of the guard had his particular 
mission to accomplish when the "sub' was 
sighted, and each officer had his lifeboat and 
crew well drilled. 

One serious problem with us was what to 
do with our three sick men — Dexter Harri- 
son down with pneumonia, Ed Sullivan with 
a dislocated hip, and George Kennedy going 
blind. Fortunately they afterwards recov- 
ered. They were below decks aft in a little 
hospital ; the rest of the company were on the 
lower decks away forward. The lifeboat I was 
to have with the first six squads was amidships 
starboard. Three of the huskiest men of the 
husky first squad, "General" Woods, Thayer 



GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 11 

Quirnby, and Corporal Elmer Buswell, hit 
upon a scheme. They were so bunked that 
they could get to the decks ahead of the com- 
pany when the 'abandon ship' signal was 
given. They were then to race the whole 
length of the ship, dive down to the deck aft 
where the sick men were, each grab a certain 
designated man and carry him to our lifeboat. 
We were not to lower until those men were 
safely in the boat. The plan would have 
worked if the ship had been 'subbed," for 
every afternoon I saw those three chaps re- 
hearsing it, dashing wildly out of the forward 
hatch, across the C Deck, and down the rear 
hatch. They had it all down to a science and 
swore that every one of our sick boys would 
be in that boat. 

Harrison, the boy with pneumonia, was 
intensely patriotic, and every day he'd say, 
' Captain, I sure do want to see our destroy- 
ers when they come. They '11 let me up to see 
'em, won't they?' And when, entering the 
danger zone, one morning, out of the mist 



12 MY COMPANY 

those eight destroyers suddenly hove into 
sight, it was indeed an inspiration! Then the 
word came from the bridge that they were 
Uncle Sam's. Wild cheering all over the ship 
as those beautiful greyhounds came at us go- 
ing at top speed, thirty-five miles an hour. It 
seemed as if they were putting every ounce 
into it to save us from a common enemy. 
Poor Harrison was so sick he could n't be 
moved, so missed this great sight. I hurried 
down to tell him that our own destroyers were 
now protecting us, but I could n't get into 
the hospital, as his whole squad were grouped 
around him telling all about it. 

The British too — the Andania was a Brit- 
ish transport — caught the enthusiasm. And 
all through our voyage of fourteen days those 
British officers and men did everything in 
their power to help us, to please us, and to 
make our stay on their ship a delightful one. 

Despite the efforts of our English comrades, 
the men were pretty lonesome and a bit home- 
sick on the trip. It was the only time in the 



GOOD-BYE, BROADWAY 13 

entire year that it was noticeable. The sud- 
den parting from all that was dear to them 
so fresh in their minds, the vivid picture of 
that loving face ever present, and then the 
absolute lack of touch with the outside world 
— all combined to spread occasionally little 
glooms about our usually happy crowd. 

But all glooms fled when our New England 
Regiment finally arrived in Old England — 
for there was much work to be done. 



CHAPTER II 
HELLO, FRANCE 

In Southampton we were fortunate in having 
many English, Australian, and Canadian regi- 
ments near us. They were splendid troops. 
We enjoyed watching them drill; their snap- 
piness, smartness, and soldierly bearing were 
a revelation and a stimulus to our men. 

We knew how those English and their Co- 
lonial troops had fought. We had read much 
of their valorous deeds against the enemy — 
their enemy and now our enemy as well. We 
all seconded the sentiments of "Bab," Ser- 
geant Babcock, "When we get up there, if 
we can only show up half as well as these Brit- 
ish troops, these pioneers who have blazed 
the way, we'll have nothing to worry about. 
These fellers who've been takin' the gaff for 
four years are just big enough to pat us on the 
back and say we're the goods, when we're 



HELLO, FRANCE 15 

just starting something they 've been doing 
all this time." 

That is the spirit throughout the American 
army across the water, the spirit of help and 
cooperation — not the arrogant idea "We're 
over here to win the war for you," but "We 're 
over here to help. After your three years of 
hard fighting and suffering, you 9 re going to 
win the war. We 're proud to be of assistance 
to you, proud to be in with you fellows at the 
glorious finish." 

One incident in Southampton was most un- 
pleasant to us and to the British authorities. 
For the first and only time, I think, in the his- 
tory of the American Army, a regiment was 
paraded for and inspected by a woman. This 
woman reported that she had been assaulted 
by an American soldier — the most hideous 
crime a soldier could commit, one that de- 
mands the severest punishment, death. We 
took one company at a time. I had to march 
D Company to a field — "Open Ranks — 
March — Front" — and then walk with this 



16 MY COMPANY 

woman down both ranks while she looked at 
each one of those fine boys, some just mar- 
ried, all having just left their homes and 
mothers and sisters. It made me boil, and 
after inspection I gave "Close Ranks" — 
" Squads Right, Double Time, March " — and 
we got away from that field just as fast as 
a group of soldiers could. This unfortunate 
woman, in one company following us, spotted 
a man. "That's the man!" Our Colonel and 
Adjutant took him, put a new hat and coat 
on him and placed him in the ranks of the 
next company. Again this woman saw him. 
"That's the man." Of course, the man was 
arrested despite his protests. He claimed to 
have been in a cafe having supper at 9.30 the 
night before — the time the crime was com- 
mitted ! The authorities went to the cafe and 
the proprietor swore the man was there at the 
time specified. This alibi saved him, yet there 
was a stigma upon that man and upon our reg- 
iment. The men worried for fear some of our 
newspapers would get the news and a sensa- 



HELLO, FRANCE 17 

tional story would be published in the States. 
After a month in France a letter of apology 
came, stating that the woman had confessed. 
This terrible crime had never been committed. 
Whether it was the result of a disordered mind 
seeking notoriety, or whether, as many of us 
thought, it was a piece of German propa- 
ganda, we never found out. This incident, 
however, showed us how easy it is to create 
a wrong impression about our soldiers and 
their morals. And when you read or hear of 
some terrible story of our soldiers and their 
relations with women, remember the story of 
the woman of Southampton. 

As we marched down the street at South- 
ampton to the Channel transport, again, 
"Good-bye, Broadway! Hello, France!' was 
taken up all along the line. Little children, 
tots two, three, and four years old, lined the 
sidewalks for blocks and patted our hands, 
as we went swinging along, and cries of " Good 
luck, soldier boys!" came from all sides. We 



18 MY COMPANY 

felt we were really beginning a wonderful 
thing. 

As our transport docked at Havre a British 
hospital train was run in on the wharf. There 
were hundreds of brave English soldiers, most 
of them badly wounded, just from the battle- 
fields. Our men in unison cried, "Hello, Tom- 
mies! " and back from the whole train came, 
"Hello, Sammies!" And then hundreds of 
cheering messages — "Good work, Tom- 
mies!" "You're the boys!" "We've come 
over to help you fellers!' x\nd back came, 
" Welcome to our city, brothers ! ' " It 's good 
for sore eyes to see you!' "You look good to 
us!' "When you see Fritz, soak him one for 
this bloomin' leg he gave me!" That spirit 
of comradeship between the soldiers of two 
great nations, one group showing the result of 
three years of hard fighting, the other fresh 
from home, ready and eager to get into it 
and help, was a great omen of the brotherly 
spirit that is to hold the Tommy and Sammy 
as pals during the years to come. 



HELLO, FRANCE 19 

"Good-bye, Broadway! Hello, France!' 
never was sung more enthusiastically than on 
that march through Havre. We were here at 
last — we had stepped on French soil — we 
were among the first, and we were going to 
fight for our country — American flags every- 
where, the people cheering and shouting, 
"Vive l'Amerique." Can any imagination 
depict a greater incentive for enthusiasm? 

We were at a British rest camp that night 
and the authorities showed the same consid- 
eration to us as at Southampton. In both 
places they loaned every one of our men heavy 
woolen blankets. Not one American soldier 
was allowed to sleep cold. 

This date, October 19th, the day we set foot 
on French soil, was the one hundred and 
seventy-sixth anniversary of the founding of 
our organization in Boston. The English of- 
ficers learned of it and a very pretty ceremony 
was staged in their officers' club. Our Major, 
Porter B. Chase, a member of the outfit for 
over twenty years, was our spokesman. He is 



20 MY COMPANY 

a man who always does and says the right 
thing at the right time. Incidentally, I was 
proud to have succeeded such an officer as 
Captain of D Company when he received his 
well-deserved majority. Major Chase traced 
the history of our regiment and toasted the 
British, the French, and the Allied cause. The 
English Colonel replied, as only an eloquent 
English Colonel can, and welcomed us as 
brothers in arms. We sang the patriotic and 
war songs of both nations and listened to the 
stirring tales of life at the front, and altogether 
it was a delightful evening for all of us. 

Orders came to move the next day. It was 
midnight, dark and cold. That long, winding, 
silent column gave one a weird sensation; but 
the tramp, tramp, tramp of thousands of 
marching men caused many a casement to be 
thrown open, and there, silhouetted in the 
candle-light, would be an old man or old 
woman watching that long column and say- 
ing softly to us, "Bon voyage' and "Bonne 
chance." No singing or cheering now — our 
movement was secret. 



HELLO, FRANCE 21 

The first troop train was our best in France. 
All the men had second- or third-class com- 
partments. These little dinky rooms have 
eight seats crowded in together. When each 
man stows away his rifle, bayonet, and belt, 
and his huge pack, and then himself, the 
chances for stretching out and having a good 
night's sleep are fairly remote. 

But already the men were beginning to take 
with a laugh whatever came along, and to 
use the phrase, used millions of times later, 
a phrase that always made discomforts and 
hardships so much easier to stand — " C'est 
la guerre." 

Orders said, "You will go to Rolampont." 
Whether Rolampont was in Asia, Africa, or 
the first-line trenches we did not know, and 
the maps we had did n't show any Rolampont 
in France. We thought at least the higher 
officers might have told us something about 
our future home, but the more we saw of this 
affair the more we learned that we were not a 
Cook's Tourist party. The gentleman named 



22 MY COMPANY 

Baedeker, we learned, was a boche, so the 
Government would not issue his book to the 
troops. That they even told us the name of 
the town was greatly appreciated afterwards. 
On later moves we did not know whether the 
destination was Paris or Italy or the firing- 
line. 

Speculation as to Rolampont was so rife 
among the men that I decided to investigate. 
At some station where the train stopped to 
rest the engine, I debarked and approached a 
French guard. Now, be it understood, I 'd had 
four years of regular college French and here 
was a chance to air it before my officers and 
some of my men. Said I to this guard in per- 
fectly good Harvard French, "Ou est la ville 
de Rolampont et dites-moi la distance au 
Rolampont?" The Frenchman in his real 
French replied most politely, " Je suis fache, 
mais je ne comprends pas l'Anglais!" Big 
glooms and quick return of the company 
commander to the compartment. 

Rolampont was still an undiscovered land ! 



HELLO, FRANCE 23 

It proved a day later to be a little picturesque 
village in the east central section of France on 
the far-famed Marne. And this was our home 
for two months. Here we first lived with the 
delightful French peasant folk we learned to 
love so well. Here we saw a bit of what war 
meant. In one billet where the boys lived 
they found a poor old refugee, a woman who 
had n't a single worldly belonging except a 
pile of straw and a few tattered blankets. 
The boys in some way "cherched" x blan- 
kets and a bunk for her, and all the time we 
were in the town that woman had three 
square meals a day which they brought from 
our kitchen. 

In another billet lived Henry Saillant and 
Tom Watts, both boys from the Coast Artil- 

1 "Cherched'* — a much-used expression among the sol- 
diers, meaning "to get' ' something. The American soldier 
uses his head in obtaining something necessary to complete 
his equipment, to satisfy the inner man, to make his pal's or 
some one else's life brighter. He does n't steal it. He may 
buy it, or borrow it, or find it, or it may be salvage, no one 
knows — but he gets it, and no questions asked. That's 
"cherched." 



34 MY COMPANY 

lery of Warren, R. I., with an old lady who had 
given eight stalwart sons to the cause. Seven 
of her boys had been killed, and one day they 
brought home from the trenches in a pine box, 
her eighth and last, her baby. The old lady 
sat before the fire all night long holding her 
boy's picture, softly moaning. My two boys 
would try to comfort her, but all she would 
say was, "It's all for France." And "It's all 
for France" was the answer, all over this mar- 
velous land, to the deepest sorrow and suffer- 
ing. Patriotism beyond belief! These two 
boys did everything to help the old lady after 
the day's work. And it was good hard work, 
too. They would go out in the forest and cut 
wood. When they left, she had a supply suf- 
ficient for all winter. These cases are typical 
of the treatment of the French people by our 
American soldiers. 

During our stay in this village the men were 
building barracks, stables, refectories (mess 
halls), Y.M.C.A. huts, and shower baths. 

There was one American Division that 



HELLO, FRANCE 25 

raced with us in the States for the honor of 
landing in France first. I shan't mention the 
name, for we don't believe in rubbing it in. 
But we were building these barracks for that 
Division while they were on the ocean ! And 
they afterwards relieved us when we moved 
from Rolampont. 

Bathing facilities in France are "pas bon," 
but the boys hit upon an ingenious scheme 
and "cherched" and bought enough material 
to build a Turkish bath. They made it of con- 
crete in an old basement, with a steam room, 
Roman bath, and shower. We charged our 
men a few centimes per bath and men of other 
companies many centimes. Then, when the 
aforesaid rival division relieved us, the Ser- 
geants went to their Sergeants, showed this 
wonderful invention to them, and sold the 
whole works for a good price. With the 
money taken in and the sale price we more 
than cleared all expenses and the cost of ma- 
terial. The bath was of no further use to 
us and we could n't take it with us. The 



26 MY COMPANY 

transaction resembled a senior selling the 
windows and radiators to the freshman com- 
ing in. 

Our first holiday away from home was 
Thanksgiving and, as the boys said, "It was 
some party." Our husky college football team 
played a team from the Engineer Train. 
A harder-fought battle was never waged in 
any stadium. And the French folk looked on 
in amazement at these American soldiers on 
their first French battle-ground. Then came 
a banquet in the barracks we had erected. 
Mess Sergeant Lyman and his crew of cooks 
and K.P.'s had worked nearly all night. The 
taste of that Thanksgiving dinner, in that 
little French town, still lingers. From soup 
to nuts inclusive, everything was cooked and 
dished up as the mother away back on the 
little New England farm would have wanted 
it for her boy. We had our company phono- 
graph going. The men would sing and then 
eat some more; cheer the mess crew, then eat 
still more; even dance to make room for more. 



HELLO, FRANCE 27 

We never knew men could stow away so much 
food. 

Yes, Thanksgiving was a grand success, but 
we all dreaded the next holiday. Somehow 
Christmas seems to be the one day of the year 
when a fellow wants, more than at any other 
time, to be with his loved ones. But the folks 
at home made it easy. For weeks boxes came 
in, and the home people got together and 
made up huge packages of sweets and good 
things to eat, and sweaters and all sorts of 
useful remembrances. Every man in the com- 
pany had something and every man had that 
touch of home brought to him that meant so 
much. The spirit of giving was rampant over 
there too. The boys all chipped in to a good- 
sized pot of money for the poor people of the 
town. The Christmas dinner was another 
feast. No "poulets' were to be found, but 
roast pork proved a delicious "piece de resis- 
tance." The many delicacies, the candies and 
cakes and sweets from home, were all pooled 
and every man received an equal share. The 



28 MY COMPANY 

thought of the dear ones at home for us over 
there was making our first Christmas in a for- 
eign land a real one. We'd almost forgotten 
we were at war. 

Suddenly a dispatch rider handed us or- 
ders. 'D Company will be ready to move at 
once.' : Immediately war was declared again. 
Party was off — no grumbling, just a wild 
scrambling around to complete equipment, 
packing up, and " au revoirs " to our many 
friends. 

It was Christmas Day and it was snowing. 
The packs were pretty heavy on our full 
stomachs — pardon, I mean on our backs. 
Bob Swain, our Poet Laureate, well expressed 
the men's sentiments: "I don't know where 
I'm going, but I'm on my way; and anyway 
this is the end of a perfect day." And then, 
'Companee 'Shun, Right by Squads, March; 
Column Right, March; Route Step, March." 
And the men marched away in that blind- 
ing snowstorm on Christmas night singing, 
' Good-bye, Broadway! Hello, France!" 



CHAPTER III 
BEHIND THE FRONT 

Bettaincourt, our new home, proved to be 
one of the finest little towns in all France — 
clean and neat, people delightful, billets good. 
Here every man had a bed or a good bunk in 
a warm house. During our stay of six weeks 
the boys were very happy and worked effi- 
ciently and cheerfully on barrack construc- 
tion with occasional drilling and maneuver 
problems. Here we had our first casualty, and 
the men felt it keenly. Bert Fletcher, a Ser- 
geant, one of our best, and a fine type of man, 
had been sent to Bordeaux on a special misr 
sion. There he contracted spinal meningitis 
and it took him away from us forever. It was 
hard to break the news to the men. Bert was 
a popular hero to many of them and his loss 
affected us all. It was the first break in our 
happy family that was to be broken up so 



30 MY COMPANY 

badly during the months to come. Word 
came to me one night, and at reveille the next 
morning I broke the news to the men. They 
were lined up in a long company front in semi- 
darkness. I could see the emotion down the 
whole line, tears in many eyes, and then sud- 
denly the bells on the little church tolled 
mass, a tender tribute of the French to our 
dead. Don't ever believe that soldiers lack 
emotion, that they are unaffected by the loss 
of a comrade. They are hit just as hard and 
sometimes harder than are people in civil 
life. The men eating, sleeping, working, and 
fighting together for months and perhaps 
years are very close to each other and the 
closest bonds of friendship and comradeship 
result. 

When a pal goes as a result of enemy action, 
"killed in action," the men are filled with a 
spirit of revenge, an intense desire to make 
the enemy pay dearly for their crime, and 
woe be unto the boches when that boy's pals 
get at 'em. 




Sergeant "Bert" Fletcher wearing the Old Cadet 
Full-Dress Uniform 



BEHIND THE FRONT 31 

The younger hoys, the 'buck privates," 
always delight to get some- thing on the older 
men. One of the old "trusties'' was Sergeant 
Robert Davis. 'Old Dave' the boys called 

him. He had been nine years in D Company 
and six years before that in the Regular Army 
in the Philippines. He had served as cook, 
Mess Sergeant, and Stable Sergeant, and was 
now acting First Sergeant (top). We used him 
as a general utility man, for he could make 
good on every job. He was a stickler for 
promptness, never missed a formation in his 
fifteen years of service until something hap- 
pened in this town. One morning at reveille 
roll-call, "Old Dave' was missing. Conster- 
nation among the Sergeants, joy among the 
buck privates, causing wild cheering when 
the company was dismissed. He had over- 
slept that morning. It was tough on Dave, 
but he finally lived it down. 

New Year's Day brought another big 
"feed' and a day of good cheer and good 
wishes for the company and their French 



32 MY COMPANY 

friends. It was a wonderful day for me. I 
never before had realized so clearly the pater- 
nal feeling of a Captain for his men. I will 
describe my feelings that day, as they are 
typical of those of every company com- 
mander over there. 

I had been detailed to staff work at General 
Headquarters in the late fall, and on New 
Year's Eve I had secured my release. Good 
old Tom Bailey, the Senior First Lieutenant, 
who had handled the company splendidly, 
came to take me back. We rode all night in a 
blinding snowstorm and on New Year's morn- 
ing I was back home for good. It was the 
happiest New Year's of my life. Once more 
I saw D Company as my company, my boys. 
Every boy there seemed like a son or a 
brother. While I had been separated from 
them, it seemed as if my own family had been 
taken away from me. 

To my mind the company commander has 
the best job in the service to-day, and all the 
Captains I've talked to feel that way, and 



BEHIND THE FRONT 33 

have that strongly developed feeling for their 
men. The Captain's responsibility is a great 
one. Every one of those two hundred and 
fifty boys look to him for everything. Their 
morals, their discipline, their training, their 
joys and sorrows, their health, their very life 
and death are in his hands. If you have a boy 
over there with the right sort of company 
commander — and I 've failed to find one yet 
who is n't the right sort — you may be sure 
that boy is looked after and cared for in every 
way. 

Our month in Bettaincourt was most pleas- 
ant for us all. We were the only troops in 
town. Our living accommodations were excel- 
lent; our food supplies came regularly and we 
added many things from our mess funds. The 
work, although hard, was healthful and pleas- 
ant. One detail seemed to be especially keen 
about their task — the wood-choppers, under 
Corporal Elmer Buswell ("Buzzie") and Cor- 
poral Joe Mayne. They would go out to the 
forests right after breakfast, heavily clad, 



34 MY COMPANY 

with their axes and saws and gather in the 
wood supply. It was like the woodsmen's 
life in the great Northwest. Dattoli, an all- 
round man, whether it was hammering out 
beautiful vases from kk 75' shells or making 
doughnuts, served as chief cook and bottle- 
washer, and the tales these woodsmen 
brought in about their appetizing "specials" 
made us all envious. Each night, coining in, 
the Corporals would hike the men through 
town in a most dignified military way, and 
then, for the edification of the others, would 
put them through the manual of the axe and 
saw. 

This chap Mayne was our best little expo- 
nent of the squared circle in the one hundred 
and thirty-five pound class. He was detailed 
as boxing instructor, and each man was al- 
lowed time off to learn how to get the other 
fellow first, so that when we boxed the Kai- 
ser's "Pets" with cold steel our footwork 
would be niftier than theirs. 

The real affection of the French for the 



BEHIND TUP: FRONT 35 

American soldier was brought out strongly 
the morning we left this town. The company 
assembled with full equipment at six in the 
morning. As they marched away they were 
magnificent, every head erect, arms swinging, 
and a smile of happiness on every face, for 
"Joe" ' said we were soon to go to the front. 
The good French folks lined the streets to say 
"Au revoir.' : There was hardly a boy in the 
ranks who was not embraced by some old 
French woman or man and kissed on both 
cheeks. Tears were rolling down the cheeks of 
many of those French people, who realized 
they were seeing these boys for the last time. 
At the next town, Montot, some of my men 
had built barracks and had lived in the house 
of an old lady there. This lady walked away 
down to the station as our train pulled in. 
She took me aside. "Captain/' she said, 

1 "Joe," the Christian name of the best-known man in the 
American Army, "Joe Latrinsky " (sometimes spelled differ- 
ently), the father of Dame Rumor. Every one from com- 
manding generals to buck privates constantly spoke of "Joe 
Latrinsky," or plain "Joe," and what he was saying. 



36 MY COMPANY 

"when your boys go to the front some will be 
w r ounded or sick. Just send those boys back 
to me; I'll care for them and just mother 
thein.' : That was the spirit of all the French 
people. When our men were figuring on "per- 
mission' (leave) long afterwards, many of 
them came to me. They did not want to go 
to Paris or some big gay city. They wanted 
to go back to Rolampont or Bettaincourt or 
Montot, to live there with the old French 
people who had been so kind to them. They 
wanted to rest and sleep with never a bugle 
call nor a drill order. 

In our next home, Freville, we lived in 
Adrian Barracks. Cries of "The old Andania 
again ' ' when the men saw the tiers of bunks. 
Here we completed our training, gas-mask 
drills, bayonet work, "over the top' prob- 
lems, and rifle practice. 

The financial standing of a French peasant 
is gauged by the amount of stable refuse in 
front of his house. Our first impression of 
Freville was that every citizen was a million- 



BEHIND THE FRONT 37 

aire. Yet the people were very kind and 
allowed us to move their stores of wealth to 
the fields and make a general clean-up of the 
town. The American Army chiefs are most 
insistent about cleanliness, not only for the 
soldier, but in the soldier's environment. The 
first work undertaken in any new area is the 
cleaning-up of everything, and upon depar- 
ture leaving that area as clean as one's own 
home. This sort of thing is prevalent through- 
out the country, and we have in a small way 
repaid the French villagers for all they have 
done for us by showing them sanitation. 

One day a Y.M.C.A. secretary blew into 
Freville to look over a site for his hut. The 
cooperation and help given by our company 
pleased him so much that he erected the tent 
right next to our barracks. The boys worked 
for him and even tended counter. . 

Unless one has seen a "Y" tent, one can- 
not understand what a blessing it is to the 
men. Here's what it meant to us. Our bar- 
racks were cold and rather gloomy. After 



38 MY COMPANY 

evening mess not a thing for the men to do 
but to go to bed to get warm. Two of the men, 
who missed the bright lights, slipped down 
to a near-by town at least one night, and spent 
the evening in cafes with perhaps too much 
red wine. Then the " Y ' came to town. Every 
night I would walk through the tents. My 
boys would be everywhere there, some read- 
ing, some writing, others playing games, and 
always a big bunch around the piano where 
Bugler Dexter ("Dex") held forth. And each 
night those two boys were leading the choruses 
and having a great time — a good clean whole- 
some time with their comrades. That's the 
influence of the" Y." 

When definite orders finally came to be 
ready to move to the front, the enthusiasm of 
the men was remarkable. Every one laughed 
and sang and joy was unconfined. We were to 
send one squad on ahead for special duty. The 
honor fell to the Ninth Squad, as it was an 
exceptionally good one. Johnny Russell, the 



BEHIND THE FRONT 39 

Corporal, was a cool, level-headed chap and 
had his men 'eating out of his hand.' : The 
men were all pals and hung together in good 
shape. We all gathered around our heroes to 
say good-bye and cheer them off. One of the 
boys was Jimmie Walsh, an Irish boy. His 
bunkie and inseparable comrade was Harry 
Slepian, of Jewish extraction. Just before 
leaving, Walsh put his arms around Slepian 
and sang : — 

"The reason that I love you is 'cause you're Irish." 
He sang it to his Jewish brother many times 
after that, once just before they went "over 
the top " together, and it always brought down 
the house. The United States Army is the 
greatest "melting-pot" in the world. 

That incident shows, too, the democracy of 
our Army. The life over there is the greatest 
leveler in the world. It makes no difference 
who or what a man was in civil life, when he 
puts on the uniform of Uncle Sam he starts 
on the same footing as every other man in 
that command. In the old days in our outfit, 



40 MY COMPANY 

we sought as recruits college men and men 
with business and social standing, but when 
it comes to working with a company going to 
war, one's ideas change. The man of Italian 
or Russian ancestry who fought with pick and 
shovel before the war would do a better job in 
building a quick trench under fire than a fel- 
low who came from the sacred precincts of 
the Back Bay. The man who killed the King's 
English would kill just as many (perhaps 
more) of the Kaiser's Germans as the fellow 
who had received one hundred per cent for 
his thesis at Harvard or Yale. 

This mingling of men for months and years, 
men of many minds, and from all walks in 
life, now all living the same kind of life, eat- 
ing the same food, doing the same work, ex- 
periencing the same joys and sorrows, is a 
great thing for every one of them. It is a great 
thing for our country. After this war we shall 
have a nation more closely knit, more homo- 
geneous, and a nation infinitely stronger than 
at any time in our history. And we who are 



BEHIND THE FRONT 41 

fortunate enough to be in the Army of the 
United States are seeing this new nation in 
the making. 

In the army much attention is given to re- 
ligion and religious services. Most regiments 
now — perhaps all — have two chaplains, 
Protestant and Catholic. Church is an or- 
dered formation. Many a man has been to 
church more in the past year than ever in his 
life before. It makes him a better man and 
hence a better soldier. 

The greatest care is exercised to see that 
every man follows his ow T n religious belief. 
The Protestants have their own services, the 
Catholics theirs, and, whenever possible, the 
Jews theirs. When the Jewish holidays oc- 
cur, the soldiers of the Jewish faith, except 
those at the extreme front, are given leave of 
absence to observe these holidays. When this 
order came out, the increase in the number of 
Jewish boys we had was remarkable — but 
only those who had been of that faith previ- 
ously were allowed to go. 



42 MY COMPANY 

Knowing the intimacy with their church 
and what it meant to them, we always ar- 
ranged for the Catholic boys to attend confes- 
sion and communion before going to a front. 

I 've known of some of my Catholic boys, 
when we were away from any church, to hike 
three or four miles in order to attend a serv- 
ice, and they were always allowed time off on 
Sunday for it. A soldier's business is killing, 
yet he does n't kill because he wants to take 
human life. He kills because it is necessary 
to kill to save and protect many more lives 
and to win for his cause that he knows is just 
and right. Therefore the more he upholds 
his religious views and teachings, the more 
effective is his work as a soldier. 

Church service on our last Sunday behind 
the lines was a most impressive ceremony. 
The whole regiment was consolidated for the 
first time since arriving in France. B and C 
Companies had marched over from a near-by 
town. The regiment was drawn up in a hollow 
square. Chaplain Edwards, our spiritual and 



BEHIND THE FRONT 43 

moral helper, the boon comrade of every man, 
stood in the center with his six feet three 
of soldierly straightness. He talked to us 
squarely from the shoulder — a regular man's 
talk: "We are going to the front, the land of 
our dreams ; we are going to fight for our coun- 
try, for that flag waving there. Every man of 
us will uphold our country's best traditions; 
every man will prove himself the kind of 
American soldier his country expects him to 
be." When the band played the "Star- 
Spangled Banner" and we came to rigid 
"present," the old flag seemed to burst out 
in the breeze. We realized then that some of 
us would perhaps never see that flag again, 
never again hear the strains of our national 
anthem. It was a never-to-be-forgotten sight, 
that beautiful sunny day in the little French 
village, the regiment in steel helmets and with 
front-line equipment. An indescribable emo- 
tion filled every one of us and a thrill of pride 
swept down the whole line. We marched 
away better men and better soldiers for that 
scene. 



CHAPTER IV 

THE FRONT AT LAST 

8 Chevaux 

ou 
40 Hommes 

— the sign on every one of our Pullman sleep- 
ers. It may strike the reader as a difficult prob- 
lem for forty men to lie down and sleep com- 
fortably in a car where eight horses are usually 
stowed away. And the reader is right. 

By this time, however, the men took things 
as they came, with never a grumble or com- 
plaint. They knew it was the best that could 
be done, so made light of discomforts. "Duke" 
Farrow, the optimist, gazed upon the small, 
hard car floors, and remarked, "C'est la 
guerre." Then the company said, "C'est la 
guerre." When things go wrong and a soldier 
says "C'est la guerre," it's the final word. 
Everything is all right. 

I really think those horse-cars are more 



THE FRONT AT LAST 45 

comfortable than the officers' quarters; at 
least the men can arrange shifts at lying down. 
The officers have first-class accommodations, 
eight officers to an eight-seat compartment. 
It's fine in the daytime, but oh, ye nights! It 
seemed on almost every lengthy move I drew 
the Chaplain as my bunkie in the opposite 
seat. Now, be it known that my legs are of 
lengthy proportions, but the Chaplain's ! We 
afterwards used them to measure deep shell- 
holes by having him stand in the bottom of 
the excavation. Anything of great length was 
compared to the good parson's legs. 

The task of "parking" those two sets of legs 
for the night was a difficult one, even for en- 
gineers. We'd take turns holding the other 
fellow's legs in our laps. We'd doze off and 
find somebody's legs encircling our necks, and 
once I was awakened by the parson's feet 
doing a fox trot on my stomach. We con- 
templated hanging them out of the window, 
but the nearness of the telegraph poles pre- 
vented that. Yes, all in all, I think those 



46 MY COMPANY 

horse-car Pullmans of the men were more 
attractive. 

It was a really enjoyable trip. That long 
troop train went winding through beautiful 
valleys, around hills and past the picturesque 
French villages. The people would wave good 
luck to us; the boys would cheer and sing our 
songs to them. Every one seemed happy to be 
approaching the big show, and the nearer we 
got to it the more buoyant the spirits of the 
men. As we kept getting nearer and nearer, 
the more interesting things became. Here 
we passed an ammunition dump, there an 
aviation field or a field of tanks — looking 
fit and ready for action. Gradually we began 
to see the result of hun shell-fire, and as we 
rolled into Soissons, our detraining point, the 
full significance of war burst upon us : build- 
ings demolished, homes destroyed, churches 
with their spires in the street; yet this was 
nothing compared to sights we were to see 
later. 

There were civilians in Soissons who greeted 



THE FRONT AT LAST 47 

us as we marched through. Even good-look- 
ing girls (not the usual one-tooth variety of 
old women near the front) waved to us. Sev- 
eral of the men missed seeing many historical 
features on account of this special attraction. 
Harry Dalzell, he of the aesthetic and unsel- 
fish nature, cried, 'Have a good look, boys; 
it's the last femme you'll see for beaucoup 
de weeks." 

The regiment was now divided; each com- 
pany was sent to a different sector. We saw 
nothing of the other companies until we left 
this front. We were given maps and our jour- 
ney to Carriere (Quarry) R-l was traced for 
us. "Good-bye, Broadway! Hello, France!" 
and other songs resounded through the streets 
of Soissons and the near-by towns as we 
tramped through. Gradually the martial 
strains died away as we reeled off mile after 
mile and those packs became heavier and 
heavier. Then we began to have trouble. The 
men were not as hard as we had hoped; 
the packs were mighty heavy; that constant 



48 MY COMPANY 

pounding on the hard French roads began to 
tell on many poor tired feet. It was our first 
real test of a long hike with full equipment 
and we were not standing up to it as we 
should. Later we should kill a hike like that 
and never show it. 

The officers went up and down the line en- 
couraging the men and exhorting them to stick 
it out. Despite their best efforts some could 
not hold out and dropped exhausted by the 
roadside. We had no transportation of any 
kind at this time and we had to make that 
march. Sergeants were detailed to stay with 
these men and bring them along as best they 
could. At noon we decided to make a long halt 
for dinner. That halt was our salvation. We 
found an old ruined chateau on a hill near a 
little wood. It was a cool, delightful spot and 
there was water. The men bathed their tired, 
aching feet, stretched out and rested, while 
the cooks got busy. Gradually the stragglers 
were brought in and we were able to check up 
every man. Then we filled up with as fine a 



THE FRONT AT LAST 49 

steaming " slumgullion ' as one ever tasted, 
and hot cocoa and bread. Out came the old 
pipes and cigarettes, the men lay back on the 
soft ground — the war looked much better. 
No further trouble on that hike. From this 
point on, we traveled in small detachments. 
The nearer a command gets to the front, the 
smaller the groups, on account of possible 
enemy action. 

The first detachment had proceeded a mile 
or two when three French officers met us, 
Captain Poiteau and Lieutenants Borge and 
Petro. They were the officers of the French 
Genie (Engineer) Company 11/63, 6th Regi- 
ment, with whom we were to work and live. 
They and their men were as fine a set of fel- 
lows as we 'd ever hope to meet. On rounding a 
turn, a big French " sausage" burst into view, 
fifteen hundred meters in the air. Captain 
Poiteau explained that the balloon was over 
the spot where our new home was to be. Sud- 
denly a whizz and a roar and a shrapnel shell 
burst over the balloon. Wild cheering and en- 



i( 



a 



50 MY COMPANY 

thusiasm by the men. Lieutenant Petro, who 
evidently had a mild form of shell-shock, 
ducked and executed a figure 8. These Amer- 
ican boys, new at the game, were delighted. 
They 'd seen shell-fire at last. All thought of 
aching feet and tired backs vanished ; all were 
eager for more excitement and more war 
scenes. 

When the French officers finally said, 
Here's our home," in astonishment we said, 
Where? ' No buildings, no apparent change 
in the ground. They led us down a road and 
then into a deep gully. It was Main Street, 
kitchens, officers' dugouts, mess halls, all 
built into the sides of the gully. We walked 
ahead to the end of Main Street and into the 
principal hotel, a deep cave, exactly like the 
Andania again, with rows and rows of double 
bunks filled with straw. The cave was elec- 
trically lighted and was half filled with the 
French soldiers, Poilus. They all stood up as 
we entered and greeted our boys warmly. It 
seemed but a moment before they were fra- 



THE FRONT AT LAST 51 

ternizing, trying to talk to each other and 
swapping smokes. 

The company was to be divided; one half 
was to be located in another cave a mile or 
more forward, a place called Allemant. After 
another good hot 'chow' the detail chosen 
for the forward position marched out. We 
passed by the famous Laffaux Cross-Roads 
on the Maubeuge road. This was about three 
miles west of the Chemin des Dames where it 
ran into the Maubeuge road. The men al- 
ready had picked up much of the story of the 
fighting here from their French compatriots. 
Corporal Johnny Noyes was explaining to his 
squad: "It was last October, when the huns 
occupied all this ground, that the French, 
after a tremendous artillery preparation, 
drove through and took it all back clear to the 
canal, two miles ahead, and that canal divides 
the two lines now." 

Swen Nelson, who was always worried for 
fear he 'd never get a chance to crack a boche, 
spoke up: 'Take us down and we'll swim 



52 MY COMPANY 

their old canal and bring some of those sons 
of huns back with us.' 3 

The terrain here was as terrible an example 
of the results of shell-fire as anywhere on the 
whole front. Not a tree, not a spear of grass 
for miles. Shell-holes so numerous they all 
ran together. The towns just one mass of 
debris. The town of Allemant, just down the 
hill, did n't have a two-foot wall standing. 
We marched down a wide path on the side of 
a hill and then into the hill; for there was the 
tremendous cavern of Allemant, occupied by 
the Germans only a few months before. They 
called it the "Iron Grotto." The men were 
forbidden to wander in the cave. French sol- 
diers had wandered before us and never been 
seen again. With all its corridors, it measured 
anvwhere from twentv to one hundred miles 
— depending upon the one telling the story. 
It seemed dark and forbidding at first, and 
one could almost smell the huns who had been 
there. The men soon accustomed themselves 
to the dark and dampness. They literally be- 




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THE FRONT AT LAST 53 

came cave-dwellers and referred to each other 
as such. One boy was "Stone Hatchet"; 
another, "Gyp the Blood"; and one, "Shell- 
faced Bill." One very quiet, unassuming 
chap, James McMahon, was 'Fire-eating 
Jim." Philip Lasell, formerly one of the 
"Merri Merri" in the Winter Garden shows 
back in the States, was always laughing, 
so he was "Lantern- jawed Phil. ,: The boys 
claimed they called him "lantern-jawed" 
because "it made his face light up." 

The next morning the French officers told 
us of the various works we were to build with 
them : a little railroad, machine-gun emplace- 
ments, barbed-wire systems, dugouts, exca- 
vations, trenches — all most interesting to us. 
One of the works to be pushed was the lit- 
tle railroad, a "soixante' (sixty centimeters) 
gauge. It was to carry supplies and ammuni- 
tion right down to the first-line trenches at 
night. It was originally built by the Germans 
and destroyed by them in the retreat. Our 
work was to regrade and lay the track again. 



54 MY COMPANY 

Allen Milliken was an expert road man 
from Ellsworth, Maine. "By gosh," the men 
would say about his home city, for Allen's 
benefit, "the town with a tree in front. Cut 
down the tree and Milly will never find his 
home burg." Give Milliken a job of putting 
a road through a swamp or through a moun- 
tain and then forget it. You '11 have your road 
on time. Later, I detailed him with fifty men 
to do this grading for the soixante. Lieuten- 
ant Borge had previously been in charge of 
this work. He was an Algerian officer, a hand- 
some hero type, full of fun, and a great mimic. 
This afternoon he was to guide three of us to 
the railroad, and he "guyed " us well. Besides 
Milliken and myself, Sergeant Henry Gar- 
ceau came along to act as interpreter. We 
had gone a mile or more through this devas- 
tated district when suddenly a shell hit in the 
road two hundred yards ahead of us. 

Every soldier wonders about his first time 
under fire. All my life I've wondered what 
my sensations would be, how I should act. 



THE FRONT AT LAST 55 

My great hope was that I should n't run if 
ever I was fortunate enough to be actually 
under enemy fire. Here we were in that posi- 
tion at last. The sensation was a peculiar one. 
We did n't run, we were not afraid. It all 
seemed so impersonal, not meant for us. The 
sensation to us was one of joy and intense in- 
terest. Milliken said: "They can take away 
our rank, they can send us home, and take 
everything away from us, but they can't take 
away this experience.' 3 We really were de- 
lighted. Soon our delight was tempered with a 
bit of nervousness, for it seemed the boche had 
planned to send some more things our way. 
Those shells popped so close that Borge re- 
marked, " We 'd better ' allez ' to a shell-hole." 
I was the senior present and heartily con- 
curred. Our shell-hole became rather warm, 
as the shells followed us to it. Again I allowed 
Borge, with his three years' experience in this 
sort of thing, to make suggestions. "We'd 
better allez to another hole." We dropped in 
one thirty yards away and within two or 



56 MY COMPANY 

three shots after that a big shell landed 
squarely in the hole we had just vacated and 
blew the ground all over the landscape. Then 
they dropped around our new refuge so close 
that dirt and refuse went all over us. 

By all the laws of Field Service and Drill 
Regulations, we should have been sent back, 
as "out of action," by the Umpire, for shells 
dropped in front of us, on our right and on our 
left. But the Umpire was n't looking, so we 
stuck it out. As it looked as if we might be 
marooned here some time, we decided to en- 
tertain each other. A minstrel show seemed 
in order. I sang the opening chorus of "Just 
give my regards to Broadway" in true Cohan- 
esque style, and the next day all agreed that 
my voice had the sweetest tremolo effect 
they 'd ever heard. 

Milliken next was introduced. He told an 
Irish story and we all laughed heartily. Later 
I asked him what it was about and he 
could n't remember what it was, so that story 
is lost to history. 



THE FRONT AT LAST 57 

Then Borge felt the Thespian spirit and 
took the stage. Garceau's stunt was to inter- 
pret for him. Borge's story was of his cousin 
and a pal who were caught in a shell-hole 
with boche fire just like this. ' Suddenly," he 
said, as a shell struck near by, " just like that, 
a shell landed in the hole where they were. 
A detail came out next day and buried one 
leg, all that could be found of them, and put 
both names on the cross." 

We laughed uproariously at this humorous 
anecdote, and we three Americans sat there in 
that shell-hole while hun shells were landing 
all around, and soberly matched to see who 
would have the honor of having his name in- 
scribed upon the cross in case they found one 
leg for two of us. Milliken was odd man, 
so the winner. We all agreed, if one of us got 
away, to see that his name was preserved to 
posterity. 

It lasted just an hour, then suddenly Borge 
stood up. "It's all over," he said; 'they're 
greasing their guns." We told him our Supply 



58 MY COMPANY 

Sergeant had a whole lot of grease that could 
readily be spared, if more was needed to keep 
those blamed boche guns quiet. 

Now came the real nerve test. He led us 
straight ahead at those hostile batteries for a 
mile. I '11 confess I wanted to call it a day and 
enforce the union closing laws, but felt it was 
my duty to see it through. Just as we arrived 
at the little soixante, a mile beyond, the real 
bombardment started. But now we laughed 
at those shells, for we were away under the 
arc. They were ranging on our batteries a 
mile back. We counted fifteen to twenty 
shells a minute, and they fired for over an 
hour. They threw more than a thousand 
shells. Later we went back and saw where 
they'd landed. Then the tremendous waste of 
war appalled us. Not one shell had killed a 
man or destroyed a piece of property — just 
blown up more devastated ground. Garceau 
remarked, "Guess the Kaiser will have to sell 
some of his U.S. Steel bonds to pay for this.' 5 

Our home at Allemant was very near the 



THE FRONT AT LAST 59 

batteries being shelled, and the men had all 
been watching the fun; so we had received our 
baptism of fire, and we were all glad for it. 
That night the French seemed much pleased 
because the American soldiers had taken it all 
so coolly. They said, "It's the boche welcome 
to the Americans, the first ones here to be 
under fire. ,! It was a warm welcome, too! 
Welcomes are all right in their way, but we 
felt, now that we had attended their reception, 
it was entirely unnecessary to hold another 
during our stay here. 



CHAPTER V 

CARRYING ON 

After this first welcome, if a day passed with- 
out the caves or the batteries or some of our 
working parties being shelled, we worried for 
fear the bodies were sick of it and had called 
the war off. 

There were many exciting moments and 
many narrow escapes. "Slim'* Edwards was 
bending over to lift the handles of a wheelbar- 
row when a huge piece of H.E. (high explosive 
shell) whizzed by his head and struck the 
wheelbarrow, demolishing it. 'Slim," with a 
wave of impatience, cried, "Damn it, I sup- 
pose the Government will blame me for bust- 
ing this blooming machine and dock my pay. ,: 
Later, the bodies threw over some gas-shells 
and caught "Slim" and Ray Boomhower be- 
fore they could get their masks on. These first 
gas casualties proved not serious. They both 




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CARRYING ON 61 

came back from the hospital in a short time, 
but, like many gas cases, it was months before 
they regained their old time "pep." 

The next gas casualty was a severe one. A 
platoon had been sent to another cave about 
four miles to the east. It was at Montpar- 
nasse beyond the Chemin des Dames. Ser- 
geant Newhall, a man of mature judgment and 
much experience, was in charge. One night the 
enemy launched a heavy mustard-gas attack. 
All the platoon but one man took refuge in the 
cave protected by the many gas doors. Pri- 
vate Casala, a boy who had never been strong, 
but, always a faithful, uncomplaining worker, 
had gone to fetch water and was caught in the 
gas. Newhall ordered his men to stay where 
they were, then adjusted his mask carefully, 
and went out alone in that gas to find his 
missing man. When brought in, Casala was 
immediately given treatment and sent to hos- 
pital. This gas affected him for over seven 
months afterwards. 

This was our only casualty that night, and 



62 MY COMPANY 

there was an excuse for it, as the boy was 
alone with a French soldier and neither got 
the alarm. During the night hundreds of 
French soldiers were evacuated to hospital 
with gas. This happened many times and well 
showed the gas training of our troops. 

The average American soldier is sometimes 
considered foolhardy and reckless in the face 
of danger, but he takes no chances with gas. 
At the first sound of an alarm, that old mask 
is on in the prescribed six seconds, or less. 

This cave of Montparnasse was a wonderful 
place, very large, well lighted by electricity, 
and laid out like a city — streets with sign- 
boards, mess halls, secret passages, and 
eighty-six feet of solid rock and earth protec- 
tion above. During the famous battle of the 
Chemin des Dames the French trapped over 
five thousand Germans in this cave; fifteen 
hundred more escaped through a secret pas- 
sage leading through the rear to a stone stair- 
way of eighty-six steps. The boys delighted to 
explore passages like this and show them and 



CARRYING ON 63 

other interesting sights every time I visited 
them. 

On top of that cave was a hole made by a 
"510" shell, the French told the men; the 
biggest ever fired. The whole platoon could 
get into the hole and still have room for most 
of their comrades. 

James Lewis, a deep thinker, a quiet youth 
who always wanted to study out the reason 
why and wherefore, stood by this excavation 
and pondered. "There's a big hole in the 
earth twenty-five feet deep, fifty or more feet 
wide. Tons of dirt and rock have been re- 
moved, and where the devil is it? ' And where 
was it all? Not a sign of extra dirt around the 
top. Where does the immense amount of 
earth driven out of shell-holes go to? Lewis 
finally figured out a solution. It sounds rea- 
sonable. He gave a learned talk to the men 
grouped around their bunks one night. 

"You see, gentlemen, that shell strikes with 
such a terrific force that nothing can with- 
stand it. The rock and dirt by that impact is 



64 MY COMPANY 

pulverized into minute particles. These fine 
particles are driven through the air at a great 
velocity for miles around. They are so spread 
around that on no one part of the surround- 
ing ground are they noticed." 

This learned discourse was greeted with 
cries of "Good boy, Professor; you're there"; 
and "The kid 's clever all right. Does he snuff 
that stuff or jerk it in his arm?' James sim- 
ply smiled benignly upon these comrades in 
their blissful ignorance and retired to his bunk 
with the satisfied appearance of one who had 
solved a weighty problem for the world. 

The work of this platoon was highly praised 
by the French officers. They built a tunnel 
through solid rock under the Maubeuge road. 
It connected two boyaux (communicating 
trenches) and was filled with high explosives. 
The pretty little game was to blow it up if 
German tanks came over. It was an interest- 
ing job for the men. When putting in a charge 
of Sheddite, Bill O'Brien, one of our expert 
demolition men, would say, 'Make it good, 



CARRYING ON 65 

boys; we'll cause more expense to my name- 
sake Bill and make him cut down the Clown 
Prince's allowance." 

After we had left this sector, and learned 
that the boche had come over, there was much 
excitement and questioning on the part of 
this platoon as to how much damage their 
hard work had inflicted. Perhaps some day 
they'll find out and learn that they builded 
better than they knew. 

All our movements had been made secretly. 
We felt that it would be a long time before 
the Germans would know there were Ameri- 
can troops in the sector. Yet, the first day 
after one of our Infantry regiments had occu- 
pied a front-line trench, a big sign appeared 
above the opposing enemy trench. It read: — 

WELCOME 26th DIVISION 

But they were afraid of Americans. The 
German propaganda was spread among their 
troops that the Yankees were wild Indians, 
gave no quarter, and tortured and butchered 



66 MY COMPANY 

prisoners. Captured documents caused us to 
smile when we learned what horrible cut- 
throats we were. This propaganda at first was 
effective. The boches would surrender to the 
French, but would resist capture to the last 
by Americans. 

One morning about seven a French patrol 
brought in some thirty prisoners to Carriere 
R-l. They looked tired and hungry, seemed 
poorly equipped and glad of a chance to get 
away from it all. Just as they came in, our 
22d Squad, under Corporal Joe Youlden, were 
going to work. Now the "Fighting 22d" was 
a crowd of young bloods filled with good- 
natured deviltry, always ready for anything. 
One was Hal Chapman, who claimed to be the 
only retained " Big Leaguer" in captivity in 
France. He was formerly a catcher with the 
"Cubs" and Joe Tinker was still interested in 
him. The whole squad, like Hal, could stand 
any kind of pitching. 

When these Indians spied those thirty 
boches they let out a war-whoop and made a 



CARRYING ON 67 

dash to give 'em the once-over. You should 
have seen those poor cowed Germans duck, 
throw up their hands, "kamerad," and seek 
shelter behind the laughing French guards. 
They were sure their time had come and 
they were to be drawn and quartered by the 
blood-thirsty Yanks. Instead, these wild boys 
rounded them all up, "cherched" some cocoa 
and bread for each one, handed out smokes, 
and saw them on their way to Headquarters. 
At first the boches did not know what to 
make of it, but when they found they were not 
to be tortured, but fed and treated like human 
beings, they went down the road singing. 

This same 22d Squad with Joe Mayne's 
19th Squad, working together on mitrailleuse 
(machine-gun) emplacements, had the honor 
of firing our first shots at the enemy. A hun 
aviator one day flew very low over them and 
opened up a machine-gun fire. Our boys 
seized their rifles and plugged away at him, 
but he got away. This aviator was a dare- 
devil. He'd fly everywhere, usually low, right 



68 MY COMPANY 

over the trenches. The boys called him 
"Handsome Harry," and at times he was 
most annoying. One night when the boys 
came in there was much rejoicing — "The 
shrapnel boys got Handsome Harry to-day. 
He's through bothering us." 

The home folks wonder what their boys at 
the front do for entertainment. No theaters, 
no movies, no circuses. Why, hardly a day 
goes past but some of the world's greatest 
aerial performers appear for their benefit, and 
almost every night some stirring show is 
staged. 

The boys greatly enjoyed watching the bal- 
loon directly over us at R-l. They called it 
"our sausage' and resented any boche at- 
tacks upon it. Its principal mission was to 
watch Laon, an important German strong- 
hold and railroad center. The observers ob- 
tained much valuable information and many 
attempts were made to 'get' this sausage 
— four successful ones while we were there. 

One of the observers was a Lieutenant 




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CARRYING ON 69 

Donahue, from Providence, Rhode Island. 
He landed in France as a casual officer. The 
officials said, "You'll go in the balloon serv- 
ice. 

"All right, me for the balloon service,"' he 
replied. 

"You'll report to the Balloon Company 
near Carriere R-l, ten miles beyond Sois- 



sons." 



Donahue reported, and the French officer 
said, "You'll go up to-day with a French ob- 



server.' 1 



"All right, I'll go up to-day." 

He was a most agreeable person, although 
he had never seen a balloon in his life outside 
of the Brockton Fair. We watched them go 
up, to the end of the cable, fifteen hundred 
meters. Suddenly four boche planes appeared 
on our right. All our anti-aircraft batteries 
opened up and the air was filled with shrapnel 
and H.E. So fierce was the onslaught that 
the planes could not get closer. This was ap- 
parently a camouflage, for, as all our fire and 



70 MY COMPANY 

attention was directed at these planes, a fifth, 
a little fellow concealed in a cloud above the 
balloon, darted down like a shot. The balloon 
burst into flames from his incendiary bullets, 
the observers "hopped" in a parachute, the 
boche shot several rounds at them, and then 
fled back home. 

"Mike" Schoenly, our company clerk, was 
on the spot when the parachute landed. He 
helped Donahue extricate himself. "Gee, 
Lieutenant," he said, "I thought you'd never 
come down." 

"Oh, I knew I was coming down all right/ 5 
Donahue replied nonchalantly. "I didn't 
know just what condition I'd be in when I 
landed, but old man Isaac Newton made me 
sure of coming down." 

A few days later he paid us a visit wear- 
ing a Croix de Guerre. "What'd you get 
that for?" we queried. "For coming down." 
And his citation read: "This brave Ameri- 
can showed savoir-faire and jumped joyously 
from the balloon to the parachute.' 3 



CARRYING ON 71 

One morning just after the men had messed, 
we heard a German plane coming, and rushed 
out. This little fellow was going at a terrific 
rate. All our gunners must have been at 
breakfast, for he met no opposition, just ran 
right up to our poor old " sausage " and blew 
it up. This boche must have been a pretty 
decent fellow. He did n't fire upon the men 
in the parachute, just circled around them, 
saw them safely landed. We thought he even 
waved "so-long," and went like a streak of 
lightning back to bocheland. 

It was not always as one-sided as this. One 
beautiful Sunday afternoon a plane came 
over, and, flying high, attempted to get over 
the balloon. This time our batteries were 
working well, and one shell split the plane 
squarely in two. The observer and driver fell 
about five thousand feet, landing not far 
from us. One was a young chap and not badly 
disfigured. He was lying flat on his back, 
arms outstretched, eyes wide open looking up 
at the sky, his battle-field. In his pocket was 



72 MY COMPANY 

a picture of a sweet-faced girl, evidently wife 
or sweetheart. We really felt sorry for the 
poor fellow lying stretched out there after a 
horrible death, the result of Prussian Mili- 
tarism. We could afford to be magnanimous, 
for we had got him instead of his getting us. 
Yet we could not help thinking of that girl 
back home and wondering if she would ever 
know. I guess we were really not fully hard- 
ened yet. 

WTien our new rolling kitchen and water- 
cart arrived at R-l, we were all like a crowd 
of kids with new toys. The cooks took that 
"soup gun," as they immediately nicknamed 
the kitchen, all apart. The new kettles, pans, 
knives, and boilers were a delight to them. 
They cooked our next "chow" on the kitchen 
and were delighted with the results, and, 
better still, so were the men. Soon our other 
transportation began to arrive — the ration 
cart, and combat, ration, and forage wagons. 
Then came our horses and mules, some good 



CARRYING ON 73 

ones, many "pas bon," and some just plain 
"skates," but each one was taken in hand 
by our stable crew and treated like a prize 
beauty. It was always a pleasure to the offi- 
cers to see how each wagoner groomed and 
cared for his quartet of mules or horses. Each 
man knew his were the best and studied each 
animal's characteristics, and took the greatest 
pride in making them the class of our stable. 
John O'Brien was now Stable Sergeant, in 
civil life an expert fire-engine driver from Law- 
rence, Massachusetts — a training that fitted 
him ideally for this army job. Not only were 
the animals, wagons, and carts always look- 
ing spick and span, but the stables also were 
kept as scrupulously clean and neat as a 
kitchen. Inspecting officers invariably com- 
plimented our stables and equipment. 

When the riding horses came, the officers 
had lessons in equitation under the tutelage of 
Old Dave, the expert. We were all pretty 
green, especially the Captain. Shell-fire was 
mild compared to that first ride on the horse 



74 MY COMPANY 

selected for ine. He seemed twenty feet high, 
and his gait shook up everything I'd ever 
eaten. But after riding up and down a shell- 
swept road in utter darkness, and not falling 
off, we felt we could make a respectable show- 
ing even on the bridle path of Central Park. 
Strange to relate, we green horsemen stuck 
on, but our instructor had trouble. One of the 
men wrote in his diary, I saw later: "The 
Captain said he wanted to get a lot of practice 
before he appeared before the company on his 
* Arabian Beauty.' It is reported that Ser- 
geant Davis, the master of wild steeds, was 
thrown from his * Jenny Mule' while out with 
the officers this evening. The Captain is now 
a veteran rider after having outridden our old 
Cavalry Sergeant." 

Next to the men's cave at R-l was another 
cave made over into a first-aid hospital. It 
was splendidly equipped with the newest and 
best apparatus. All the French and American 
dead and wounded in the sector were brought 
here. The first American soldier killed in this 




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CARRYING ON 75 

sector was brought here, and we buried him in 
a little French cemetery close by. D Com- 
pany furnished the firing squad and body- 
bearers, and Dexter blew a muffled "taps." 
We gave that boy as fine a funeral as a soldier 
could receive. 

A few days later the first officer to be killed 
in our Division was brought in. He was also 
reported as the first American Army officer 
killed in the war. It was Lieutenant Eadie, 
of the 103d Infantry. The French officers all 
joined us in paying a final sad tribute to this 
gallant officer who gave up his life for the 
cause. Shortly afterward, a French officer 
was brought in. He was a close friend of 
Lieutenant Borge and a well-known officer in 
the service. Two French Generals attended 
the funeral. It was most impressive and we 
Americans were just as proud to salute this 
brave comrade as we were one of our own 
men, when he was laid in his last resting-place. 

Gradually our little cemetery grew bigger 
and bigger. Almost every day some poor chap 



70 MY COMPANY 

was brought in. The boys always seemed anx- 
ious to see that each received a burial with 
full military honors. It was difficult, at times, 
to muster enough men for the firing squad 
and body-bearers, as nearly all the men were 
out on the works. Cooks, stable-men, the 
sick, every one available felt honored when 
asked to assist. I remember one firing squad 
consisting of the First Sergeant, Barrack Ser- 
geant, Mess Sergeant, two cooks, dispatch 
rider, a wagoner, and a sick man: a motley 
crew, but all glad to be of help in the sad 
ceremony. 

February 17th was a memorable day for 
the men. Beaucoup mail! The boys simply 
devoured those letters from home. Now, a 
word about letters to the soldiers. If you have 
a boy or brother or sweetheart or friend over 
there, write him early and often. He is pretty 
sure to get it and is bound to feel happier for 
it. Our Army Postal Service is constantly im- 
proving and a surprisingly small number of 
letters go astray, if properly addressed. When 



CARRYING ON 77 

you write, talk about pleasant and joyous 
things, tell all the gossipy news about the 
folks, the friends, and the town. Don't tell 
him you're suffering because the lid is on 
and you can't get any chicken. He's proba- 
bly eating cold "canned Bill." If he ever did 
something to you years ago that you did n't 
approve of, forget it; don't keep harping 
upon it in your letters. Tell him how much 
every one is doing at home to help the cause, 
how enthusiastic all are. Above all, pat him 
on the back; tell him of the good things his 
friends are saying about him. It makes no 
difference whether he is in the fighting 
trenches, in the S.O.S. (Service of Supply, 
formerly called the Lines of Communication), 
or a clerk away back in some Headquarters. 
He's over there a long way from you and all 
he loves. Make him feel like the hero that 
he is. 

I've seen the boys get letters like this, 
when they were discouraged and tired and 
perhaps hungry. Their whole aspect of life 



78 MY COMPANY 

changes; they'll suffer any hardship, fight all 
the harder in trying to live up to the ideal 
in those letters. Such letters will not only 
make a boy happy, but they'll make him a 
better soldier and a better man. 

Now, if you happen to be the proud young 
lady in whom he is particularly interested, 
impress upon him constantly that he is the 
only one, that you admire him and are proud 
of him. The other boys in the town look so 
out of place in civilian clothes, and are so un- 
interesting to you. It seems as if nearly every 
soldier gets the impression that some chap at 
home is stealing his sweetheart away. And so 
many reports get around about our women 
at home that even married soldiers worry for 
fear the wife's affection may be transferred to 
some one who is "Johnny on the spot.' ; This 
kind of German propaganda was worked in 
a terrible way in the Italian armies and did 
much to hurt morale. Kill it forever in our 
own Army by writing such letters as I sug- 
gest, and writing them often , 



CARRYING ON 79 

As to letters from the boys, don't expect too 
many. You should write three or four to their 
one. In the first place, they have but little 
time and few conveniences for writing. I've 
seen men stretched out in the bottom of a 
trench, or on the cold floor of a cave with 
a candle stuck on a helmet, men in all sorts 
of uncomfortable positions, trying to get off 
a note, perhaps long deferred. Many times 
at the front it is impossible to write at all. 
We 've been for days and days on an advance 
move, hiking all night, resting days; no mail 
could even be accepted. Again, every letter 
has to be read and censored by an officer. 
Imagine, perhaps, where there are two officers 
available for duty with two hundred and fifty 
men, the number of letters those officers have 
to read. It's sometimes a physical impossibil- 
ity to get all those letters out immediately. 
The officers of the American Expeditionary 
Force work overtime on the men's corre- 
spondence; they realize how much those 
letters mean. Almost every night you '11 see 



80 MY COMPANY 

the company officers working on their men's 
letters, and working late into the night, long 
after the men themselves are sleeping. 

In D Company the men were most thought- 
ful in regard to letter-writing. They appre- 
ciated the task set for the officers and did not 
make it an impossible one. We did insist upon 
the men writing their mothers each week. We 
talked to the men a good deal about their 
mothers, how much they would worry when 
no letters came, and how they were the real 
sufferers after all. The mail orderlies checked 
these mothers' letters, and if a boy was not 
writing to his mother we would get after him. 

You, soldier, going over there, write your 
mother every week at least, if you don't write 
another person. You owe it to her a thousand 
times over. 

Every Sunday we would declare a legal 
holiday, devoting the day to a general clean- 
up. Back about two miles was a good shower 
bath at Pont Rouge. The entire company 
would bathe there and, much to Supply Ser- 



CARRYING ON 81 

geant Walker's delight, the men would get 
new underclothing, some even new clothes 
and shoes. At these Sunday parties many 
" cuckoos " died a dishonorable death. " Cuck- 
oos," or "cooties," as we afterwards called 
them, were proven to be of pro-German pro- 
clivities, and our common enemy. The men 
swore " Death to the hun cooties — never 
take a prisoner.' 1 Cootie-hunting was the king 
of sports with them. 

"I just captured a cootie sentry in my 
shirt," one chap would say. 

"That's nothing; I got a whole outpost 
and slaughtered them." 

Then the worst sufferer: "Gosh! I got a 
whole platoon doing squads right and squads 
wrong on me manly chest. I put down a 
heavy barrage, but I think some got away 
and will get me again soon." 

Later, cootie machines were installed and 
did much to destroy these troubles. The 
men's clothes and blankets were subjected to 
a high pressure of steam, destroying all ani- 



82 MY COMPANY 

mal life. The men had hot baths and clean 
underclothing, and "pas de cooties' for a 
while. 

Another disturbing animal was the rat. 
Not the agile little animal running around the 
barn rafters, but a husky creature of gigantic 
proportions. But these "young dogs" were 
not bad; they were really quite friendly. 
Sometimes on awakening a boy would find a 
friendly rodent nestled up against his face, 
a nice little bedfellow; but the bunks were 
pretty small and the men insisted upon sleep- 
ing alone. They were even rude at times, but 
the rats never seemed to resent it and treated 
us all with deep respect. 

We might as well speak of all the unpleas- 
ant things at once, so now for the last — the 
mud, and there were veritable seas of mud up 
here when it began to thaw. Going through 
our communicating trenches, sometimes the 
boys would go up to their knees in it. One 
fellow wrote about a visit our parson paid to 
an emplacement. "We almost lost our Chap- 






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CARRYING ON 83 

lain, who not only became camouflaged with 
mud, but those long legs sank away down into 
it, till we thought he was ticketed for China." 
The squad leaders would quote our General 
to our men: "Don't let your glance rest on 
the mud of France; turn it upward and forget 
what is underfoot." 

All of our work in this sector was of a defen- 
sive character. All of our orders and instruc- 
tions came from the French Major, Com- 
mandant Cloitre. He was a splendid fellow, 
big and jolly, always most considerate of us, 
and always pleased with the work of our men. 
We had at one time twenty-three different 
works going, and Commandant Cloitre not 
once offered a criticism. On the contrary, he 
was most complimentary. 

Our boys did work well. It was all new and 
interesting to them. The French soldiers 
working with them had been doing the same 
thing for three years and naturally lacked a 
bit of our boys' enthusiasm. On the little 
railroad, for example, our crew would do what 



84 MY COMPANY 

was considered two and one half days' work 
in one day. 

The men enjoyed it, but began to think of 
some offensive work. "A" Company of our 
Regiment had tackled a little offensive action, 
and although it was a disastrous venture, we 
were all proud of the "A" detail and anxious 
to tackle something of the kind in "D." There 
was to be a raid, and " A ' Company was to 
throw a bridge over the canal for the Infantry 
to cross. Their plans were well laid and every- 
thing was going like clock-work, when a shell 
struck squarely on the bridge, as they were 
carrying it to position. Lieutenant " Connie" 
Beard was in charge of the detail of a dozen 
men. All but himself were killed or wounded. 
Connie worked wonderfully to get those 
wounded and dead boys out under fire, and 
he succeeded in bringing all the wounded and 
most of the dead on his back, to first-aid sta- 
tions. Then he found his way to our place and 
dragged himself in there, a sight, pale, tired 
almost to the breaking point, and covered 



CARRYING ON 85 

with blood. Our whole regiment was proud of 
Connie (now Captain Beard) and of his cita- 
tion (Army Corps) the highest in our Divis- 
ion, and of his Croix de Guerre and his D.S.C. 

Our Colonel hurried to R-l when the report 
was 'phoned in. He was much worried about 
the detail. Some of our men overheard him 
talking with Beard about the missing men. 
Sergeant Davis stepped up, saluted, and said, 
"Sir, there are two hundred and fifty soldiers 
in D Company ready and anxious to go out 
and find those boys." 

The Colonel smiled his appreciation, but 
was unwilling to sacrifice more men. 

Many of the nights up here were wonderful 
to behold. Sometimes hun planes would come 
over in squadrons bound for a raid on Paris. 
Then our anti-aircraft guns would belch forth, 
powerful searchlights would search the sky 
for miles, and thousands of rockets and flares 
made the greatest Fourth-of-July fireworks 
celebration we ever hoped to see. 



86 MY COMPANY 

One of the biggest parties came one night 
just after supper. The boches started a little 
raid across the canal after putting over a bar- 
rage. That barrage was costly to them. It evi- 
dently had been planned just at the wrong 
time for them. Our own artillery — and we 
had a great number of guns — started. Well, 
we'd thought we had seen artillery work be- 
fore, but nothing like this. It was appalling. 
Every gun, both French and American, in that 
sector, covering many miles, was going. We 
could just picture those artillery boys throw- 
ing the shells in just as fast as they could work. 

I thought of the men forward at Allemant. 
Realizing they were closer to the fun, I felt it 
my duty to go up and look them over. Lieu- 
tenant Shadburn, the only officer at R-l with 
me, was standing by. 

"Shad, I'm going up to Allemant." 

"Well, Captain, I thought the same thing. 
Can't we put Sergeant Davis in charge here 
and you and I go?" 

Just then Davis came along. We had to 



CARRYING ON 87 

almost shout to be heard. "Sergeant, we're 
going to Allemant, so look after things here." 

"Very good, sir," he replied, "but may I 
suggest this? There are some important re- 
ports Sergeant Turner has up there I ought 
to get to-night. Perhaps the Captain would 
allow me to go with him and leave the Supply 
Sergeant in charge here." 

"All right," I laughed, "come along." 

It was a glorious night, almost as light as 
day from the flashes of that long line of thun- 
dering guns. There were camions and trucks 
dashing in all directions and at Laff aux Cross- 
Roads it seemed like the busiest hour on Fifth 
Avenue and Broadway. Hundreds of these 
ammunition trucks going like mad to the bat- 
tery positions. Empties coming back for more. 

"The thing would be complete," I shouted, 
"if they only had a traffic cop." 

"There he is." Shad pointed. 

And sure enough, in the center of that cross- 
roads was a tall French Sergeant with a sema- 
phore bug-light, coolly motioning these trucks 



88 MY COMPANY 

forward, those in another direction, and not 
one bit of congestion. 

We found our platoon in full fighting re- 
galia all ready to "stand to." But the boches 
did n't come over into that maelstrom of shells 
and no orders came for us to move. The boys 
were really a bit peeved, for they were all 
keyed up to it. That bombardment seemed 
like music to them. They were like blood- 
hounds on a leash ready to go to it. 

The noon meal was sent out to the men on 
the various details in marmites (buckets with a 
Thermos bottle effect that keep the food hot). 
One day, while two boys were returning with 
a marmite, the shelling began. They took 
refuge in a crater. A shell suddenly landed 
squarely in that hole beside them. Fortunately 
it was a "dud ' ' (defective). Those boys were 
some frightened; ran all the way back to the 
cave. When the shelling stopped, they re- 
membered the marmite which they had aban- 
doned in the excitement. Much consternation 
when it could not be found. Our respect for 



CARRYING ON 89 

Government property was keen and the loss 
of one marmite was a sad blow. I told the two 
men they did exactly the right thing. Their 
lives were more important than all the mar- 
mites in France. We reported the loss with 
the full story, and Captain George Parsons, 
our efficient Regimental Supply Officer, was 
so affected by our tale that he sent us two new 
marmites to replace the one. 

One night a detail was going down to a very 
advanced position close to the canal. A 
French Sergeant was guiding. The communi- 
cating trench suddenly ended in front of a 
road. Old Dave, the T.S. (Top Sergeant), 
went forward to reconnoiter. Returning in a 
few moments, he cried: "It's all right, boys; 
nothing but machine guns down this road. ,: 
That became a by-word in the company. 
When we were in a hazardous position some 
one would express that cheering message, 
"Don't worry, nothing but machine guns 
down here." 

Our Chaplain, always planning for some 



90 MY COMPANY 

one else's enjoyment, put up a plan to the 
officers for a surprise banquet to our Colonel. 
It was to be some banquet. Gridiron Club 
features and stunts. We rehearsed with the 
band for entrance songs, opening choruses, 
and songs about the Colonel. We even dis- 
covered a French cook at Allemant who was a 
one-time opera singer. We were going to work 
the band overtime. This party was to be at 
Regimental Headquarters some distance back 
of the lines and great preparations were made 
for it. Everything was staged beautifully, but 
as usual the boches tried to spoil it all. The 
Colonel, not suspecting anything, was being 
conducted to the messroom by the Adjutant; 
the band, camouflaged behind an old ruined 
wall, all tuned up and ready for "Hail to the 
Chief," "Big Night To-night," and other 
Broadway favorites, when it all happened. 

Two boche planes blew over and dropped 
some bombs. The interlude, entrance songs, 
and opening chorus had to be sung without 
accompaniment, as we were unable to find 



CARRYING ON 91 

any of our talented band after that, although 
reports stated they had been seen scurry- 
ing in the direction of dugouts. The party 
looked pretty sad for a while, but everything 
went off finely except the musical features. 



CHAPTER VI 

COMRADES-IN-ARMS 

The non-commissioned officers were not to 
be outdone by the officers in having a "beau- 
coup de feed." One day before we left R-l 
our French comrades arranged a field day. In 
the afternoon our Non-Coms played their 
Non-Coms at Soccer football, a la French 
style. It was a hard-fought battle on a shell- 
torn field. Toward the last our boys, most of 
whom had played football in school or col- 
lege, put a little old-time American football 
tactics into play. Several remarks from the 
French players to the purport that the game 
was "tres-sauvage. ,! It must have been a 
strange sight for a couple of German aviators 
who blew over, as well as for the French flyers 
who protected our game by driving them off, 
these athletes of two allied armies fighting at 
play out there in that Laffaux battle-ground. 



COMRADES-IN-ARMS 93 

The game happily ended in a tie, 2-2. After 
the old company cheer, given with a will for 
the French team, our players were tendered a 
reception and afternoon feed. 

That night came the big party, a banquet 
given our Sergeants by the French Sergeants. 
Great preparations had been made. Our art- 
ists had drawn up an attractive menu and 
place cards. The French "cuisinier" worked 
overtime, as the menu shows : — 

Salmon — Mayonnaise Sauce 

Roast Beef 

Stewed Beans 

French Fried Potatoes 

Dandelion Salad 

Desserts 

Cheese Jelly 

Flaked Eggs 

Cake 

Coffee 

Beaucoup Smokes. 

In describing to me afterwards the speeches 
and how our boys got along with the language, 
Carroll Harris said, "Dave, as toastmaster, 
gave every one a chance to speak from his 
heart. Some of the speeches were in French, 



94 MY COMPANY 

some in near French, and some in just gut- 
tural sounds!" 

This spirit of "camaraderie," of good fellow- 
ship between our soldiers, pleased the French 
officers as well as our own. The paternal feel- 
ing of the French officers for their men was 
also a pleasing thing. The French soldier al- 
ways speaks of his Captain as *mon Capi- 
taine." He seems to take pride in the use of 
the "my.' : Some of our own men copied this 
happy phrase, 'my officer,' 3 and referred to 
us as u mon lieutenant 91 or "mon Capitaine." 
It kept before us the thought of our duties to 
these men. To my mind this "family" idea, 
without in any way lessening discipline in a 
company or in any unit, makes that organi- 
zation all the stronger in morale and in effi- 
ciency. 

Other fete-days were the days mail came. 
Big rejoicing all around. 

At the Allemant cave the men organized 
two clubs. Those who still held their sweet- 
hearts back in the United States belonged to 



COMRADES-IN-ARMS 95 

the "Tried and True" Club. Harold Hayes 
was President. He was later commissioned 
and sent home to join a new Division. Now 
the charming bride, Mrs. Harold, is Secretary 
of the "T. and T." 

The others, who from their letters found 
that some one else had supplanted them with 
their loved ones, joined the "Loved and 
Lost" Fraternity. After each mail the leading 
members of each club went around seeking 
new members. They judged each case on its 
merits, deciding what "frat" would accept 
the man. It was a lot of fun, but behind all 
the foolishness there was much real feeling. 
The leading lights of the "T. and T." Club 
fought hard for members. When they lost 
one, they tried to cheer him up and often 
wrote the girl. 

Even second-class mail came to us occa- 
sionally. It was interesting to see the boys 
read the home papers. What seemed to inter- 
est them most was the life of the men in the 
training camps. 



96 MY COMPANY 

One bitterly cold day George Morse was 
Barrack Sergeant. He was sitting in the cave 
on a keg, wrapped in sweaters and blankets, 
reading from the "Boston Post." 

"By Gosh!' he exclaimed, 'what's this 
war coming to ! The steam heat gave out at 
Camp Devens. Those fellows will catch their 
death of cold!' 

Yet, with all the joshing about the men not 
over yet, there was a wholesome feeling of 
respect and admiration for them. The feeling 
of all the men over there for the people of 
America is entirely different from the way it 
is pictured. I've heard men say about their 
comrades: "Poor Bill is stuck over in the 
States in some camp, just wild to get over 
here"; or, "Jack has a job in a department 
with a desk and all that; is worried for fear 
he '11 never see any fighting." 

The men at the front realize that they are 
the fortunate ones. They are having the good 
times. They are enjoying the biggest thing 
in the world, and are a part of it. They all 



COMRADES-IN-ARMS 97 

talk of the people at home and how much 
more they are doing and getting no credit: 
such as the men in camps and clerical work, 
the men spending their time and effort in 
Liberty Loan drives, in Red Cross, Y.M.C.A., 
Salvation Army, Knights of Columbus work, 
and in a thousand ways, all for the benefit 
and backing of the boys at the front. 

And the women, too, with the war relief 
work, the charities, the constant thought and 
effort to help. It seems to the boys in France 
as if all the men and women in the home land 
were doing everything in their power to help 
and protect them. 

The boys in the trenches feel that if there 
are any heroes, they are the folks working and 
sacrificing at home while they are over there 
getting all the joy and glory. 

Again, it is remarkable to see the feeling 
of the men of one branch of the service for 
those of another. Every one seems to think 
that the other fellow has a harder time and is 
doing a better job than he. My men used to 



98 MY COMPANY 

say, "Golly, those * Doughboys' have a tough 
time, and how they can fight"; or, "Isn't 
our Artillery great; that barrage last night 
was a pippin — just perfect." 

When we were shelled in Boucq, the Signal 
Corps boys went out under fire, mounted the 
telephone poles and repaired the wire, seem- 
ingly oblivious to the shells whizzing by. Our 
boys just looked on in admiration and cheered 
them. 

The Navy, too, comes in for its share of 
praise. "Just think of what those fellows 
have done ! With the English Navy they have 
brought over two million of us, with supplies, 
ammunition, and guns, and have n't lost a 
ship. And the poor fellows are out of luck. 
Can't get into a decent scrap. Only hope the 
boche navy comes out before the thing is 
over and sees our Yankee Tars knock them 
to pieces." 

It's a great feeling to see. Everybody 
throughout the American Expeditionary 
Force knows the other fellow is good and 



COMRADES-IN-ARMS 99 

admires him. And that other fellow has to 
be good to live up to his reputation. 

The Veteran Association of our Regiment 
publish a quarterly giving historical sketches, 
current news, etc. While in this Soissons 
sector copies of the fall issue were sent to us. 
The old outfit for nearly a century have had 
a distinctive full-dress uniform made of a fine 
white broadcloth. This copy of the quarterly 
published a story of the history of this uni- 
form which said it was copied from the French 
as a compliment to a French regiment that 
had much to do with the winning of the bat- 
tle of Yorktown in the Revolutionary War. 
That regiment was the famous Regiment of 
Soissons. 

This story was especially pleasing to our 
French comrades-in-arms and proved one 
more link in the chain that bound us together. 

We were all really sorry to leave our homes 
in this sector and more particularly our good 
friends of the French 11/63. We marched out 
in the early morning in small groups. The 



100 MY COMPANY 

boches seemed to know of our departure. 
They shelled us from the time we first started 
until our last wagon left R-l. Then they 
stopped and began dropping big ones into the 
city of Soissons, our destination. 

The town of Crouy, Commandant Cloitre's 
Headquarters, was halfway on our journey. 
Here we consolidated the whole company for 
the first time since our arrival. Captain 
Poiteau had ridden down with me, and 
Commandant Cloitre came up to wish us all 
" bonne chance.' ; My company lined up and 
presented arms, and I presented each French 
officer with a gold wrist identification band 
inscribed from our officers. Then I gave "At 
ease." The Sergeants dashed out in front of 
the company and led them in our company 
cheer for each of these splendid officers who 
had done so much for us and whose instruc- 
tion was to prove of the greatest value to us. 
They both seemed quite affected. Our feel- 
ings were evidently mutual. Captain Poiteau 
afterwards wrote : — 



COMRADES-IN-ARMS 101 

It is my pleasure to express to you the deep sen- 
timents from all the sous-officiers and officiers of 
the 11/63. Your departure has created an empty 
feeling and has made us think more often of the 
sympathy and affection born between our two 
companies. We know that you come to take your 
part, every day a greater one, to endure the hard- 
ships, the long combats for right, for civilization, 
without desire of conquest, without material gain, 
to urge you on. The most humble of our men have 
suffered the misery of invasion and destruction 
of the enemy and this is the basis of the sympa- 
thy, the fraternity that from the first contact has 
reigned between the two companies. 

In our admiration of the generous and sponta- 
neous aid of the United States of America to our 
France, you and your company hold the places of 
dear friends, of true brothers-in-arms. The mem- 
ory of the weeks passed together makes our hearts 
grow warm and increases each time our chances 
for a final and complete victory. 

We thank you, your officers, and your men for 
the kindnesses, too kind, that you have shown to 
each French comrade. 

Our entry into Soissons was like a trium- 
phant march. The company made a brave 
appearance. The people came out of the 
stores and houses waving American flags and 
shouting "Vives" to the American soldiers 
back from the front. 



102 MY COMPANY 

The famous Cathedral of Soissons was our 
home for the night. It proved to be far from 
the peaceful, restful place a cathedral should 
be. The boches kept up their shelling and at 
night sent over some bombing squadrons of 
aeroplanes. Most of our time was spent in 
the "abris" with little sleep. 

All our entraining plans were suddenly- 
changed. Soissons was too hot a place for 
trains to work coolly. The point selected was 
several miles to the rear. My company was 
to go first. After we had gone three or four 
miles we halted for a rest. We were now out 
of range of any hun guns. I breathed a sigh 
of relief and thanked God. For with me that 
morning, in safety, was every man of my 
company I had taken to the front! 



CHAPTER VII 
OUR "REST CAMP" 

The general scheme now was to have a big 
Divisional maneuver. We were to hike every- 
day after reaching our detraining point. After 
the usual twenty-four hours' train ride we 
reached Brienne le Chateau. Here a very 
happy meeting was awaiting us. 

Back in the winter an old friend of mine, 
George W. Coleman, of Boston, prominent 
in all civic and philanthropic works, a man 
known to most of my company, had written 
that he was coming to France on a special 
mission and would look us up. We smiled 
at this last. It was like saying, "I'm liv- 
ing in America this season; if you get over, 
look me up." I've had people write, 'I've 
a friend over there in some outfit or other; 
be sure and remember me to him.' : They 
don't realize we have two million stretched 
from Switzerland to the Channel. Yet, when 



104 MY COMPANY 

I hopped off that train and ran down the 
platform to see about the unloading, there 
stood good old George Coleman awaiting us. 
He somehow had learned of our destination, 
and had waited seventy-two hours at that 
station to bring us a message of cheer from 
our homes. He hiked with the company that 
night and slept with us in our billet. Next 
morning the company assembled after mess. 
George gave us one of his inspiring, cheery 
talks and then brought individual messages 
to many of the men whose folks he knew back 
home. It was a real home touch for us. Later 
we were all thrilled by a letter from him. He 
spoke of being invited to dine with Lloyd 
George in London. When that great man in- 
quired about the spirit and temper of the 
American soldier, Coleman told him all he 
had learned about D Company. Lloyd 
George replied, "If that's the spirit of the 
American troops, they will win.' : It was most 
flattering to have the Prime Minister of Eng- 
land's opinion of our Army based on us. 



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OOK Company ORGANIZATION IN THE Kaiu.Y SPRING 
Afterwards came many changes 



OUR REST CAMP 105 

Now we started on a week's hike, making 
a different town each night. After that we 
were to have a month in rest camp, "permis- 
sion," and other attractive features. Our 
march was a pleasant and interesting one, not 
too long per day, and with prospects of arriv- 
ing early each afternoon in some pretty 
French village. It seemed almost like a travel- 
ing show, with our long line of performers, 
wagons, rolling kitchen ("calliope"), and 
prancing steeds. The men caught the spirit 
of the thing, and when we arrived in a town 
it was interesting to see how quickly they 
adjusted themselves to their surroundings. A 
few moments after arrival their packs were 
unslung, beds were made up in a barn or field, 
and they were hunting a place to bathe or 
clean up for the evening banquet. 

In some of the towns we passed through, 
where American troops had been before us, 
the little French children would welcome us 
by singing in broken English — 



"Ail! Ail! De gang's all here. 



>> 



106 MY COMPANY 

Loud cheers from our boys greeted this 
welcome. 

After five days of this, came a change of 
orders. We were hurried to Humberville, our 
rest camp. "Joe" again took the floor. " Now, 
we 're going to have that month's rest — per- 
haps, and perhaps not." 

"Perhaps not" was right. Our month nar- 
rowed down to twenty-four hours. We were 
hustled out during the night after our arri- 
val, loaded on French camions, and off for 
the front again. This time it was the Toul 
sector. It was a very secret move, so no one 
knew where any one else was, but we fared 
better than the rest. We landed in Hainmon- 
ville and relieved an Engineer company of 
the First Division. The truck with our pro- 
visions was lost, and our wagons would take 
three or four days to get up. It looked a bit 
like a bad war again. 

These First Division officers came to our 
rescue. They had been here some time and 
had accumulated a goodly line of stores which 



OUR REST CAMP 107 

they could not transport. Captain Oglesby, 
an officer with a great record both in our 
service and with the British Engineers previ- 
ously, said, 'They're yours. ,: Our mess that 
night, cooked on an old range, was one of 
Lyman's best with all sorts of fixings. 

Next day, still no word of the rest of our 
regiment. Our officers were escorted by the 
First Division officers over the sector: saw 
all the works and were delighted with every- 
thing. We went over the famous Dead Man's 
Curve, into Mandres, Bourmont, and Seiche- 
prey (where the first real American battle 
was waged later), into the Bois de Ramieres 
within a couple of hundred yards of the Ger- 
man trenches, and had an all-round excit- 
ing sight-seeing trip. 

During the afternoon the First Platoon 
was sent to the engineer dump to unload 
engineer supplies. The Germans seemed to 
resent the intrusion of these newcomers and 
threw a lot of supplies over that were not on 
our bill of lading. 



108 MY COMPANY 

Sergeant Harris pulled the detail out in 
the nick of time. A big shell landed right be- 
tween two cars where the men had been work- 
ing ten minutes before. 

We turned in early that night, but not to 
sleep. I was awakened by Captain Oglesby. 
"There's a train come in at the dump. It 
must be unloaded and released before day- 
light or it's a 'gone' train. Can you help 
me?" I surely could, to repay for his many 
courtesies to us; I routed out the Second, 
Third, and Fourth Platoons and we went up. 
The huns did n't seem to want us to unload 
that material. They threw things all around 
us and for good measure began to gas us. The 
men worked fast. Each squad had one car 
and as soon as unloaded they were hustled 
back home. The whole train was finally re- 
leased. We went back to check up. Seven- 
teen men missing ! They were all in one pla- 
toon under Corporal Milliken that had gone 
to a siding near Dead Man's Curve. Porter 
wheeled out the side car and we hustled up 



OUR REST CAMP 109 

there. Milliken had rounded up most of his 
crew and had taken refuge, with masks on, 
in a gully. We gradually found others whom 
the gas had driven to shelter; all but Dave 
Rittenberg, a Jewish boy from Boston, one 
of our most faithful and conscientious sol- 
diers. Early the next morning Dave reported, 
much to our relief. He had taken refuge in 
an artillery dugout. 

Right here I want to say a word for the 
Jews in this war. I have been fortunate 
enough to have had several in my company 
and we are proud of them. They are as clean 
and as brave as any soldiers you can find in 
our Army. 

This place looked awfully good to us. The 
huns looked easy meat. One of the officers 
under Captain Oglesby told us of a "party" 
he had a few nights before. He " hopped off " 
with a couple of squads from the Bois de 
Ramieres with orders to bring back some 
prisoners. They got them — three. Coming 
back, one began to cry. The Lieutenant 



110 MY COMPANY 

talked German. "What's the matter ?" he 
asked. "My brother is back there all alone/' 
the hun answered. "That's all right, tell me 
the place and I'll send a Sergeant with a 
detail back to get him. ,: It was a straight 
story. The Sergeant returned in a short time 
with the brother, the family was reunited, 
every one was happy, and we had one extra 
prisoner. 

Our stay here was to be short, however. 
The next morning the Colonel came in. We 
were ordered to Jouy sur les Cotes, a few 
miles away: "Jouy with the cooties" the boys 
called it. 

Shortly after our arrival at town Headquar- 
ters, I was summoned to the 'phone. The 
voice said, "This is Mr. Cole. I want to see 
you." At the front one never uses titles. 
Every one is "Mister." Harry Cole was my 
Second Lieutenant. I replied: "Well, if you 
wish to see me, come to my billet.' 1 

"No," the reply came back, "I'd prefer 
you'd come to see me." "What's got into 



OUR REST CAMP 111 

Cole?" I thought. "He never acted like this 
before. A Second Lieutenant ordering me, 
a Captain, to call on him.' : Then a great light 
came to me. I turned to an orderly inquiring, 
"Is General Cole in town?" "Yes," he re- 
plied, "you're talking to him." Quickly I 
grabbed the 'phone. "Very good, Sir, I'll be 
there at once"; and ran all the way to his 
house to apologize. He appreciated the joke 
immensely. 

General Cole was in command of the 52d 
Brigade, and later on we saw much of him and 
had the honor of being attached to his brigade 
in another sector. General Cole is the ideal 
soldier and did wonders with his brigade. 

A few days at " Jouy with the cooties" and 
we were ordered to move, now nearer the front, 
to the town of Roulecourt. This town was 
very near Lorraine and the dirtiest town we 
had seen in all France. It was almost impos- 
sible to find billets, stables, or a place for 
the kitchen. We all went to work to clean 
up, "cherched' lumber, floored barns, built 



112 MY COMPANY 

stairways and bunks for every man. Sam 
Nelson and his expert crew of masons con- 
creted a floor for the kitchen. John O'Brien 
kept his wagoners busy. And before long we 
had a very comfortable little place on Forty- 
second Street, corner of Broadway. Every 
street in town was officially labeled like the 
streets of New York. 

This was the first and only place in France 
we had seen where the people were not de- 
lightful. There were only ten or a dozen civil- 
ians in town. We were tipped off when we 
came in that they were to be watched. Right 
away they acted suspiciously. 

Roulecourt was near the lines. The towns 
of Loupmont and Apremont were just in front 
of us, clearly visible. They were held by the 
Germans. The enemy shelled in front of us, all 
around us, and for six to eight miles back of 
us. But never a shell landed in Roulecourt. 
We felt grateful to these suspicious civilians 
for their thoughtful protection of us, anyway. 

Right off we selected a "sleuth" squad with 



OUR REST CAMP 113 

Sergeant Johnny Russell in charge. These 
men kept secret watch at night of all the 
civilians. They observed many things, most 
of which probably meant nothing, while some 
were undoubtedly significant. 

The usual ploughing in the fields with black 
and white horses, the moving of the hands 
on the church clock, and the hanging out of 
blankets of many colors on the enemy side 
were reported. They caught one man pacing 
off our wire, another watching the ammuni- 
tion and wagon trains going by. For every 
wagon passing, he took something out of one 
pocket, placing it in another, while a child 
with him apparently counted the men on the 
teams. 

Of course, no lights were allowed anywhere 
at night, yet there was always much quick 
flashing. The sleuth squad tried all sorts of 
tricks to get enough real evidence to arrest 
one of these people. 

One night it came. Johnny Russell ran to 
my billet. 



114 MY COMPANY 

"Captain, we've got him!" 

One of our suspicious characters was an old 
fellow. We referred to him as "the boche," 
as we knew he talked German. He lived in a 
little room with one window which was in 
full view of Montsec. This mountain was just 
across the valley, an enemy stronghold. The 
boys used to say: ' Don't worry about Mont- 
sec, it's only a bluff. It's all boche." 

Johnny had two sentries, Bill Shea and Bert 
Blanchet, both conservative, reliable fellows, 
posted in different places, but both watching 
this house. Both had simultaneously reported 
distinct flashes, on a dot and dash system, 
coming from this window toward Montsec. 
The window was covered with burlap, all but 
one panel in the corner. It was through this 
panel the flashing came. We went in quietly. 
The old man was in bed, a torchlight, now ex- 
tinguished, by his head. We talked to him, 
not disclosing our suspicions; told him he 
must not have lights in his room at night. 
Immediately he said he had not been signal- 




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OUR REST CAMP 115 

ing to Montsec, he knew nothing about sig- 
naling. A sentry behind a curtain took down 
everything the man said. Then I posted the 
two sentries in their original positions back 
of the house, lit the light, moved in front 
of it, took it around the room, and did every- 
thing that the old man might possibly have 
done to cause flashing. No sensation to the 
watching sentries like the one they had seen. 
Then I made dots and dashes by rapidly mov- 
ing the light back and forth by the panel. 

"That's it!" they cried. 

We arrested the old man and turned him 
over to the French authorities. This flashing 
may have meant nothing, but the next day 
our batteries to the right were shelled so 
heavily and accurately from Montsec that 
they were forced to seek new positions. 

Our old Major, Porter Chase, was now 
given the First Battalion and a new Major, 
John C. Green way, came to us. Years ago he 
was renowned as 'Jack' Greenway of Yale, 
famed end and catcher, later as a Rough 



116 MY COMPANY 

Rider with Colonel Roosevelt, and more re- 
cently he became prominent as a mining en- 
gineer of the West. He was tall, athletic, an 
expert horseman, hard as nails, an all-round 
"he" man. He never seemed to tire nor to 
think of food or sleep when there was work to 
be done. The three or four months I served 
as one of his Captains brought me a wealth 
of information and experience gleaned from 
his great store. 

We had built a large amount of barbed- 
wire system all through this sector. One day 
the boys working on the second line of wire 
were delighted when General Edwards, com- 
manding our Yankee Division, came along 
and complimented their work. 

"That's good honest wire, boys, as good as 
I Ve seen anywhere. And this line is where we 
lick them or die." 

A word like that from a big man like our 
General meant volumes to the men. 

Now, the Major laid out plans for a trench 
system behind our first line of wire. Each 



OUR REST CAMP 117 

company commander had one thousand In- 
fantry in addition to his own company. 
They worked mighty well. Under hard con- 
ditions they built that trench — covering 
perhaps three miles in length — in one night. 
It was dark, raining, and very hard digging. 

The great work the Red Cross is doing over 
there showed to full advantage that night. At 
about two o'clock in the morning, when every- 
body was wearied and cold, these Red Cross 
men brought out big cans of hot cocoa and 
fed every one of those twenty-five hundred 
men. 

We had a run of three days' fever in the 
town and our own little infirmary was over- 
taxed. These Red Cross men made over a 
barn, and at one time I had at least twenty 
of my men there on comfortable iron cots with 
plenty of blankets and mighty well cared-for. 
Every afternoon one of the Red Cross men 
would come in and, to the delight of the men, 
inquire, "Do you all desire tea or cocoa with 
the cakes this afternoon ?" The Red Cross 



118 MY COMPANY 

workers are everywhere, and a soldier cannot 
spend a cent with them. Everything is given. 

In this town, too, we saw the work of the 
Salvation Army for the first time. They built 
a hut, which was in charge of an elderly man, 
a minister in civil life, and for his assistants he 
had the Mclntyre sisters, two charming girls 
who made the most delicious pies, cakes, and 
doughnuts for the men. Afterwards we saw 
much of the Salvation Army work. It is grow- 
ing all the time and is one of the greatest 
factors for good and for helping the men that 
there is in France. 

At times in this sector our company was 
pretty well split up. We had a platoon work- 
ing in the front line, a good deal of it in No 
Man's Land. Afterwards we were ordered to 
send this platoon to Boucq, where Division 
Headquarters were, to work on a P. C. in the 
side of a mountain. (A "P.C." is the Post of 
Command of an officer — his Headquarters.) 
Then we had a platoon in the Nauginsard 
Woods on our right, building another P.C. for 




A Bit oi oub Camouflage Work over the Observation Post 

Boches just beyond 







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The Artillery Observation J'ost in front <^ Montbe* 



OUR REST CAMP 119 

the Brigade General. About half of this pla- 
toon preferred to live in the woods and they 
made a pretty little camp. I gave them their 
own kitchen and George For tin, an expert 
cook. They thoroughly enjoyed it in these 
woods despite the things that the boches 
threw there at the Artillery. 

Two other squads under Sergeant Harris 
and Sergeant Holmes built an O.P. (Obser- 
vation Post for observers to get enemy artil- 
lery flashes, thus locating their guns and noti- 
fying our own Artillery of the locations). We 
were quite proud of this O.P. We built it 
for Captain Lyman of the Flash and Sound 
Range Engineers. He was Professor of Physics 
at Harvard University and was intensely in- 
terested in this work. This was the first O.P. 
ever built in France by American forces; in 
fact this sector was the first sector of the front 
to be taken over entirely by an American 
Division. We flattered ourselves we were 
seeing history in the making. 

The remainder of the company were build- 



120 MY COMPANY 

ing machine-gun emplacements, barbed-wire 
entanglements, camouflage, and other inter- 
esting works. We got along very well in this 
town. We improved our billets all the time 
and our food supplies came pretty regularly. 
We were also able to buy a good deal to help 
out the men's mess. Lyman and his cooks, 
when the issue did not come very well, would 
frame up all sorts of fancy dishes — delicious 
griddle cakes in the morning made from bran 
mash stolen from the horses, which were put 
out to pasture and would not miss the bran. 
They camouflaged "canned Willy" in a dozen 
different ways and even made macaroni out 
of the Jew bread which is now an article of 
issue. One Sunday we even turned two pla- 
toons loose in the fields, and as a result had a 
delicious mess of dandelion greens for Sunday 
dinner. 

One of the ten inhabitants remaining here 
was an old woman in our street. She looked 
like a witch — the usual one-tooth variety, 
a neck that hung in folds over her shoulder, 



OUR REST CAMP 121 

and a fiendish face. When the "chow" was 
skimpy, one of the cooks would escort the 
dame to the head of the mess line and feed her 
so that the men passing by could get a good 
look at her. It was allaying to the most fero- 
cious appetite, and the slim "chow" would 
prove sufficient. 

Eddie Walker's supply department were 
able to "chercher" a great deal of needed ar- 
ticles except pants. In working on the wire at 
night a great many of the men tore their pants 
beyond repair. They pestered the supply de- 
partment so much that the Sergeant had a 
big sign made and posted on his door: — 

THIS IS PANTLESS DAY 



NO NEED TO ASK FOR 'EM 
WE AIN'T GOT NONE 

To save the men's hands from the wire our 
wrecking crew salvaged a large number of old 
shoes. Saddler Edwards cut out the uppers, 
fitted them over their hands, and made thongs 



12« MY COMPANY 

for the back. These saved many a badly torn 
hand. 

Every time you asked Eddie Walker about 
what he needed, the answer was, "Odds and 
ends.' : He would want to go to Headquarters 
to see about supplies. "What supplies?" 
"Odds and ends." That term "odds and 
ends' covered a multitude of things and 
"Odds and Ends Walker," as the boys called 
him, obtained everything obtainable for the 
Company. 

If anything, our life here ran a little too 
smoothly. At one time the men seemed to be 
getting a bit stale and needed something in 
the way of action. It came one day when the 
Colonel told me very confidentially that there 
was to be a raid. A battalion of Infantry was 
going over to take some prisoners. Twenty- 
five Engineers were to go with them. Our 
work was to follow the barrage, blow up the 
enemy wire with tubes of Sheddite, go through 
the gaps with the Infantry carrying bombs, 
blow up the boche dugouts, then continue 




Charles P. Mason 
A type of American Soldier 



OUR REST CAMP 123 

to their third line, blow up some more, and 
beyond that destroy a bridge and a mill. 
After this we were to call it a night's work and 
go back home. 

Colonel Bunnell told me that I could send 
ten men from my company, and as the work 
was very hazardous suggested that I call for 
volunteers. This was all very secret, but the 
men have an uncanny sense of getting wise 
to anything stirring. 

When I came back to our town from Head- 
quarters the whole company seemed to be 
waiting for me. I assembled them on the 
floor of a barn, went up the stairway, and 
stood on the floor of the loft to tell them about 
it. I made it out just as bad as I could, tell- 
ing them of the great danger and said, "Now, 
if there should be a man in the company who 
wants to volunteer, I want him to think of his 
home, his parents, and his future before abso- 
lutely deciding. Now, after all this, if any 
man wishes to volunteer, let him come up the 
stairs here and I will talk it over with him." 



124 MY COMPANY 

Charlie Mason, a clean-cut chap who had 
left his own large plantation in North Caro- 
lina to go to France with us, had slipped 
around to the back of the barn, climbed 
through a window, and was there followed by 
a number of others the moment I had finished 
talking. Then in the stairway in front there 
was a wild scramble. I thought I was going 
to lose some men, the fight to get up was 
so intense. 

Every single man in the company came up 
to that loft to volunteer! We drew lots, and 
afterwards I saw many of the losers try to 
buy the chance of the lucky ones. The ten 
winners left us the next day in a truck and 
were loudly cheered off by the rest. The raid 
was successful; all of my men were gassed, 
but not badly, and came back from hospital 
within a couple of weeks. 



CHAPTER VIII 
FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 

There was a town a little way in front of us, 
very close to the first-line positions, and some 
barbed-wire construction was needed there. 
We were ordered to send one platoon under 
an officer to that town. I picked our Senior 
First Lieutenant, Osborne Palmer, a man of 
much experience in handling men as an engi- 
neer and an expert in this line of work. 
Charlie Bateman, the Junior First Lieutenant 
at this time, was going forward at night to 
find dugouts and see that there were accom- 
modations for the men going up. Charlie had 
been with the company for a few months and 
the life up here seemed to agree with him; in 
fact, always inclined to corpulency, it seemed 
here to increase. 

Just after dusk he went ahead in a side- 
car motor-cycle, and, going through the next 
little town, he noticed that for some unknown 



126 MY COMPANY 

reason the sentinels did not challenge, and 
he traveled on to where the men were at 
work without being molested. Down the last 
stretch of the road a German sniper in some 
way had got into a wood and had been shoot- 
ing up and down the road and had hit one of 
our sentries. Bearing this fact in mind, after 
Charlie had billeted the platoon and started to 
return, he said to the driver: "Never mind the 
speed laws; beat it." Just as he was dashing 
into the first town, a sentinel in French 
uniform jumped to the middle of the road. 
Charlie then remembered that this town that 
day had been taken over by the French. He 
leaned out of the car and said: "Abbeville 
Albert' (the countersign and parole for that 
night). 

The sentinel simply stood there in a crouch- 
ing position at "Charge bayonets." Charlie 
afterwards swore that that piece of sharp 
steel was four feet long. In answer to his pass- 
word the sentinel simply shook his bayonet 
and said, "B-r-r-h!" 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 127 

"No, Monsieur, you don't understand. Le 
mot est Abbeville Albert." 

Again came nothing but the determined 
shake of the bayonet and "B-r-r-h!" 

Big Thayer Quimby was driving the motor- 
cycle that night. "He is a nut, Lieutenant; 
let me ride him down and we will get by ' tout 

de suite." 

Charlie, having great respect and admira- 
tion for our French allies, said, "No, I will 
get out and talk to this gentleman." He 
went up to the end of the steel pigsticker, 
leaned over it, and much to his consternation, 
discovered that the French sentry was as 
black as the night. In his very best French he 
commanded: "Appelez vous, s'il vous plait, 
Caporal de Garde, ou le Sergeant, ou les Offi- 
ciers, ou somebody." 

The only reply was another "B-r-r-h." 
Then my stout Lieutenant realized that this 
French soldier could not understand either 
French or English; that he was one of the 
Senegambians, just arrived, and was very 



128 MY COMPANY 

much on the job. Charlie thought he knew 
one or two words in Senegambian that he had 
learned from French troops, but was very 
much afraid they were cuss words and did not 
dare to use them. Suddenly he thought of his 
identification tag with his picture in it which 
he carried in his hip pocket. He reached for 
it with his right hand. Much agitation of the 
steel pigsticker. Many and loud "B-r-r-hs" 
and the cocking of the rifle on the part of the 
sentry. The officer immediately changed his 
method of attack and "kameraded. ,: 

This sentry had evidently misunderstood 
his orders: would allow anybody to go out of 
the town, but no one to come in. A wagon 
train was coming down the hill. Charlie, 
with his hands above his head pleading with 
his opponent, spied them and yelled, "Don't 
go out of here, you will never get back. Send 
somebody back quick and get a regular 
Frenchman to come down here and tell this 
nigger that I am one of his pals. Hurry up, 
for I don't think I have very long to live." 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 129 

The driver was gone perhaps ten minutes: 
Charlie claimed it was an hour and a half; 
and all this time the steel pigsticker was rest- 
ing on his rotund stomach with the rifle be- 
hind it cocked and a wild determined African 
soldier back of that. 

A French Non-Com finally arrived, ex- 
plained to the son of night that this was a 
perfectly good officer of the Allied Army and 
not a fat boche, and for the first time the 
black man lifted the pigsticker from Charlie's 
stomach and grinned and came to "Present 



arms." 



An officer never returned a salute with 
greater pleasure. He jumped into his car 
and hurried back to my quarters. He hunted 
up all orders and pamphlets regarding a mat- 
ter of this kind to find out, had the black 
man plunked him, if he would have been 
entitled to a wound stripe. 

Some of the boys were troubled because 
others not so fortunate borrowed their toilet 
articles and other things. One artistic chap 



130 MY COMPANY 

had the accompanying sign made, which he 
put up over his bunk. 

NOTICE 

THE OTHER DAY 

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to Day 

Someone -a**v«^ tza. *™k— w — tyktLji******* 

sovmDwr 

someone will go too Fait 

This sign was copied by others and did 
much to alleviate the situation. 

Many boys feel that they are not soldiers 
until they begin to "beef." One of their chief 
topics was, of course, the grub. Then it would 
be about the work, about their billets ; in fact 
some of them are not happy unless they are 
"beefing' about something. One night our 
dinner was an especially good one and there 
were "seconds' for every one. I noticed 
Corporal Robinson and his squad, which we 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 131 

called the "foreign legion," sitting on the 
woodpile by the kitchen apparently "beef- 
ing." I said: — 

"Boys, was n't the dinner good to-night?" 

"Yes, Captain, it was great," one answered. 

"Is n't the work easy enough now?" 
Yes, sir, very easy and interesting." 
Are n't your billets all right?" 
Yes, sir, they are fine." 
Then, for Heaven's sake, what are you 
beefing about now?" 

"Well, Captain, we are beefing because we 
can't think of anything to beef about." 

The men don't beef about big things, real 
hardships encountered. Those are dismissed 
with the usual " C'est la guerre " or the 
word " Aujourd'hui," which they say means 
" I should worry." 

One of the chief topics for conversation was 
getting back home, and "Joe's" most famous 
and most believed remark was, "There's a 
big sign on the Statue of Liberty which says 
'Welcome Home, 26th Division.'" This 



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132 MY COMPANY 

"Joe" spread all through our Division. It 
was surprising the number of men who actu- 
ally believed it and that our Division was 
going home for work in America and then 
return later. They had the officers' baggage 
at one of the base ports ; they had our ship all 
picked out, and even the date of the parade 
up Broadway. Many thought we were going 
home to help in the third Liberty Loan drive, 
and they had some good arguments, too. We 
had received a beautiful Christy poster, the 
caption being 'Fight or Buy Bonds." The 
boys added the line at the bottom which read, 
"We Do Both." 

The majority of men held bonds of the first 
loan, and all who had any amount of money 
left of their salary after allotments, insurance, 
etc., were deducted, bought of the third loan. 
The men thoroughly understood the benefits 
of all the splendid measures of the Govern- 
ment taken for their protection and to help 
them save. Every man in D Company had 
the maximum War Risk Insurance of ten 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 133 

thousand dollars, and every man fully appre- 
ciated what Uncle Sam had done for him in 
putting through these great insurance pol- 
icies. 

Many of the boys tried to be poetical in 
their letters describing the life and incidents 
at the front. Young Jimmy Smith, one of our 
fifty-seven varieties of Smiths, wrote an effu- 
sion in his dugout by candle-light and showed 
it to the rival poets. "You fellows think 
blank verse is clever, but this is real poetry, 
with rhymes and all that stuff." 

"Yes, Jim," they replied, after listening to 
his efforts, "your story interests us, but it's 
so blankety-blank-blank, you need n't worry 
about any one mistaking it for the real thing.' 1 

Jimmy's poem really gives a fairly good 

idea of the men's viewpoint, so you may be 

interested : — 

I 'm under the ground in my dugout, all, all alone, 
Save for the rats and the odors which help share this 

home. 
I have to laugh when I write this, 'cause if you could 

but look, 
You 'd see a picture rarer than in any comic book. 



134 MY COMPANY 

This subterranean cellar, smaller even than a tiny sin, 
Was fitly named when we called it our little "Crawl 

Inn." 
A winding, narrow pathway through which you have 

to stoop 
Forms the part called "entrance" to this funny little 

coop. 
Once you 're on the inside there ain't no looking out, 
For the roof and sides are covered with stones and 

earth about. 
Because it must be "shell-proof" and "gas-proof" as 

well, 
In case a German shell arrives to blow us all to hell. 
Although there are no guarantees anywheres about, 
I hope I 'm not inside here when its safety 's tested out. 
This little box bedroom — for that 's all it means — 
If made of tin 't would be excellent for sardines. 
The air's scarce, but the dinged thing's water-tight, 
Only you can't move round much and move round 

right. 
We 've got five bunks, and five is sure some crowd, 
For there 's hardly room left for one to talk out loud. 
Two bunks above two bunks; that accounts for four; 
Mine 's a single bunk quite low towards the floor. 
The floor and ceiling are of wood, the walls are of rock, 
It's as clean and dark in here as a piece of old burnt 

cork. 
We've forgotten Edison and electricity's working 

might; 
We use a waxen candle to furnish us with light. 
Now, for the living things which pass in this review, 
There's cuckoos and small mice and even large rats, 

too, 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 135 

Which hold their secret meetings and dote on mass 

formations 
And never seem to sleep or lack for daily rations. 
We 've got some rats right here, of which we 're surely 

proud. 
Why, they'd push a freight train better than a crowd. 
They jump from bunk to bunk, and, oh, the noise they 

make. 
Upon first time hearing you'd think your life's at 

stake. 
But this is all "old stuff," a "matter of course" to one 
Fighting for Democracy against our foe, the hun. 
Now, don't think I'm complaining 'cause I describe 

this to you, 
Or think I 'm despondent or feeling the least bit blue. 
I 'm just damned glad I 'm living and in this hole can 

squeeze, 
'Cause I might be standing shivering, in water to my 

knees. 
Now, my comrades are returning, four in single file, 
So I must quit and hear their peculiar line awhile; 
Listen to some funny joke on what they heard or saw, 
Or some one's new version on "How to win the War." 
That 's all for now about our palace where we are 
At the Front, Somewhere in France, so Au revoir. 

One bright May morning we were honored 
by a call from Frank P. Sibley, war corre- 
spondent of the "Boston Globe." "Sib" was 
attached to our Division and a friend of every 
man in it. 



136 MY COMPANY 

While with us he contracted the three days' 
fever. The boys made over a billet for him, 
cemented the cracks to keep the rats away 
from our distinguished guest, built him a 
bunk, and then tried to entertain him. Each 
night our quartet would come down. "Sib' 
would be in his bunk by the open fire enjoy- 
ing it while the concert was on. One night 
as the first song was finished, it was repeated 
outside the window. Joe Gabrey had organ- 
ized a rival quartet who sang the encore to 
every song which the original crew rendered. 
The play of the men impressed 'Sib.'' One 
afternoon about twenty of the boys organized 
a Jazz band and had a parade. Perley Quimby 
was bandmaster, flourishing a French cane. 
A whole squad carried a piece of sheet iron as 
a drum, others made melody from bacon cans, 
and then the real musician played a harmonica 
obbligato. This crowd of soldiers at the front, 
playing soldier, greatly amused our guest. 

Towards the last of 'Sib's' sickness, one 
afternoon he was bemoaning his fate. Having 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 137 

been sick for a week, he had been unable to 
get enough exciting material for his weekly 
story. While he was discussing it, an aero- 
plane making a great racket flew very low 
over our billet. It sounded as if Henry Ford 
was coming to call. We rushed out. It was 
an American plane. Just beyond us it started 
to rise, then came back tail-end first. With 
a terrific force it crashed to the ground. We 
arrived on the scene a few moments later. The 
two American aviators were driven several 
feet into the ground. It was a gruesome sight. 
The huns had been firing upon them. It was 
thought the pilot had been hit and fainted, 
losing control. 

Lieutenant Cooper, the moving-picture 
man for our Division, was on the job as usual. 
This fellow — " Coop " we called him — was a 
character. He went everywhere for pictures 
and obtained some "wonders." In one of our 
towns he caught in his movies the church 
being shelled to pieces. His most amazing 
exploit came later. This incident happened 



138 MY COMPANY 

at the first push on the left of Chateau - 
Thierry. It sounds like a yarn and few believe 
it, but I have the word of the general officer 
that it actually happened, and "Coop" mod- 
estly admitted it, although he said, "I deserve 
no credit; I was scared to death." 

A regiment of Infantry was to " hop off " 
early in the morning, going over to take a cer- 
tain town. ' Coop " was right out there work- 
ing his movie on the boys going ahead. Sud- 
denly to his consternation eight boches came 
out of a shell-hole right in front of him. He 
started to "kamerad," but to his surprise all 
eight of the enemy threw up their hands and 
"kameraded." He took heart, began to realize 
what the situation was, and turned the crank 
of the camera as fast as he could. Shrieks and 
more "kamerading' from the huns. They 
thought he had a machine gun on them ! It 
was a laughable sight to see this moving-pic- 
ture man marching behind the eight boches, 
all their " hardware " on him, and they carry- 
ing his moving-picture apparatus. 




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FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 139 

We were sorry to see "Sib" leave us, as we 
all enjoyed him thoroughly. The boys were 
delighted to see a story he afterwards wrote 
for the newspapers telling about them. It 
read : — 

The company is one of the cleanest I have seen. 
It has had wonderful luck and has only had two 
men court-martialed, which in itself is nearly a 
record. The men have so obviously a pleasant 
time that the other outfits who work sometimes 
with these young engineers on a job in the woods 
say openly that if they should ever be transferred, 
they want to be sent to D Company. 

The men delighted in playing that they 
were back home. In their play they would 
impersonate various characters. One of the 
principal places for these scenes to be laid was 
at Thompson's Spa, a famous lunch-room in 
Boston. I have seen boys in the first-line 
trenches, one acting as a customer and the 
other impersonating Bessie, the charming 
young lady behind the counter. 

'What would you like to-day, sir?" in- 
quires camouflaged "Bessie." 



140 MY COMPANY 

"Oyster stew, chicken on toast, asparagus, 
iced coffee, mince, apple, and squash pie," and 
then on with a complete list of everything that 
Thompson's Spa ever sold. Then this " Bes- 
sie," with the tin helmet on, gas-mask at the 
alert, and rifle in hand, would hand the cus- 
tomer a piece of "canned Willy" and hard- 
tack. 

The boys delight in joking each other about 
their sweethearts and what heroes they will 
be to them when they get home. I heard 
Harry Evans, a tall, lanky Yankee boy from 
the wilds of New Hampshire, with real New 
England farmer wit, one day joshing another 
in this way : — 

"You will be walking down Tremont Street 
with the old Derby on and a big flaming red 
necktie; then you will spot the girl just going 
into Huyler's for an ice-cream soda. She will 
turn around to see her hero. You will swell 
up. Then Jack, your hated rival, will sneak 
up behind you and holler 'gas. 9 You like a 
big gink will forget where you are, knock off 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 141 

the lid with one hand, and shove the tie up 
in your face with the other." 

One of the great topics, of course, when a 
group of men get together, is the question of 
peace terms. There seems to be only one 
thing the men over there are afraid of. It is 
that the people in America are going to think 
about the men in the trenches, what they are 
going through and all that, and perhaps con- 
sider terms. 

The men over there don't want terms; they 
want to get into Germany. They don't want 
to commit atrocities of any kind or destroy 
property unnecessarily, but they do want to 
give Germany a taste of the medicine that 
they have given the people in the cities of 
northern France and of Belgium, and the only 
kind of peace they want considered for a mo- 
ment is the unconditional surrender of the 
Germans. 

While in this town we arranged for our regi- 
mental dentist, Dr. Ewing, to come up and 
give us the once-over, checking up every man 



142 MY COMPANY 

in the company on the teeth. We built over 
a ruined house for a dental parlor. Our expert 
carpenters, the Chapman boys, "General' 
Woods, and Steve Perham, built a dentist's 
chair that was a work of art. It was made 
entirely out of duck boards; had arms, a head- 
rest, foot-rest, and even a cuspidor attach- 
ment from a boche helmet. We afterwards 
loaned it to the company barber, Ralph Gard- 
ner, for his shop. 

This shop in itself was most artistic. It was 
situated on 42d Street, ground floor, and had 
everything that a barber shop should have, 
mostly simulated or drawn on the walls. Here 
is the picture that "Sib" took of it. 

In a town in front of us was stationed Lieu- 
tenant Colonel Robert Goodwin, an Artillery 
officer and a college classmate. In our town, 
in addition to Captain Brush and myself, of 
this class was Lieutenant Harold Winslow, a 
liaison officer with the Infantry. It seemed 
fitting that our annual class banquet be held 
at this time. The party was held in Colonel 




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FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 143 

Goodwin's dugout with occasional enemy 
disturbances. Among the after-dinner speak- 
ers, I was orating about the great and glori- 
ous class of 1901, when a loud ringing on the 
'phone rudely disturbed my efforts. 

"Pardon, just a moment, Mr. Speaker." 
And the Colonel took the 'phone. 

Some outfit in the front trenches was get- 
ting a heavy fire and wanted retaliation. 

"All right, I'll send over five hundred 
rounds at 8 o'clock," he said. 

Then he 'phoned his batteries just back of 
us the necessary instructions. 

"Now go ahead with the speech." 

I continued, without noticing the time, 
was about to reach a grand patriotic climax, 
when suddenly the bombardment started. 
The speech ended abruptly; no one could hear 
me. Perhaps this was the reason we voted 
the first college banquet under fire a great 
success. 

Our various works began to be finished. 
Headquarters were anxious to rush the big 



144 MY COMPANY 

P.C. at Boucq, so another platoon and Com- 
pany Headquarters were ordered there. Boucq 
is a very pretty town on the side of a hill. It is 
several miles from the lines and had never 
been shelled since the beginning of the war. 
People were living there. It was much like a 
peaceful country village in the central part of 
France. 

There was an American cemetery not far 
from here. On our Memorial Day the French 
people with all the little children of the town 
gathered flowers and made wreaths. They 
decorated the graves of our boys and said 
prayers over them. We learned afterwards 
that this pretty tribute was universal through- 
out France. 

One morning about three o'clock I was 
awakened by a terrific whizz and roar. For 
a moment I could n't realize what it was all 
about. Then another and another. I began to 
realize our quiet town was under fire. I was 
sure of it a moment later when a big shell hit 
the house three doors from mine blowing it 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 145 

off the sky-line. At the same time Corporal 
Brunton appeared in my doorway, saluted, 
and said : — 

"Sir, I beg to report that war has been de- 
clared." 

Just a word about " Denny" Brunton. He 
was a man from Springfield, Massachusetts; 
he had worked up a nice little metal-roofing 
business, but had given it up to fight for his 
country. Of a better all-round man and sol- 
dier I cannot conceive: quiet, unassuming, 
absolutely without fear. If he had a bad 
habit or fault, we never could discover it. 
He was the chief of orderlies and mail clerks, 
and the Captain's personal orderly. 

Denny was a demon for work, the most 
thoughtful man I ever knew. When there was 
a breathing spell I would find him washing my 
linen, polishing my boots, or mending my uni- 
form. Whenever we would strike a new place 
I would never think of my own billet. After 
the men were all fixed up, Denny would say: 
"Does the Captain wish to see his chateau?" 



146 MY COMPANY 

It might be a room, a cave, a dugout, or 
just plain "pup" tent in the woods, but each 
time we would agree: "It's the best billet we 
have had in Prance." 

He would never leave me, especially when 
in danger, and never once thought of his own 
comfort or personal safety. Give a Captain 
a company of Denny Bruntons and they could 
lick a whole boche division. 

After receiving his report this morning, we 
went out to see about the men. One platoon 
in billets was sent down to the P.C. The 
others were in a barrack. Two shells hit 
that barrack, but the Sergeants had got the 
men out five minutes before. It was pathetic 
this morning to see the poor French people, 
especially the women, shaking with terror. 
Our boys tried in every way to help them. 
Three very old ladies were trying to get up the 
hill to the convent. We ran to help them. 
They were hardly able to totter, trembling all 
over. When our boys put their arms around 
them, the poor old souls gave in and just 




Our Barracks at Boucq after a Morning "Party' 




An Abri under the Road 
Refuge for artillery observers 



FINE ARTS AT THE FRONT 147 

leaned on their protectors. We took them to 
our kitchen. The cooks brought them bread 
and meat and hot coffee. We had to feed 
them; their trembling hands wouldn't hold 
anything. Then we took them up the hill and 
turned them over to the good Sisters at the 
convent. These pitiful sights, defenseless old 
women and little children being fired upon, 
made our boys hate the huns the more. 

They shelled us three days, regularly at 
certain hours. Then they quit. No more ex- 
citement, and our life went on as usual. 



CHAPTER IX 
"JOE" GOES TO PARIS 

Our pleasant sojourn in this pretty town was 
suddenly brought to a close, by orders to 
move. The officers' advance guard of the new 
Division came in. We showed the Engineers 
all the various works we were building. The 
men were always anxious to finish a job once 
started, and during the last few days speeded 
everything up, so all were completed but the 
big P.C. in Boucq and one three-machine-gun 
emplacement at the front. In one town we 
had a complete network of trenches and wire 
surrounding it and machine-gun positions 
everywhere, in woods, converted houses, 
basements. Mr. Boche would have received 
a warm reception if he had come through. 
Now he is many miles from there, in the 
direction of his home station. 

Lieutenant Shadburn's crew worked fever- 




A Machine-Gun Empla< ement in a Converted Hoi be 

PROTECTING OUB W'jJU. 

Chaplain Edwards (Charlie Chaplin) in the foreground 



JOE GOES TO PARIS 149 

ishly, and at noon of the day of departure 
declared the P.C. in the woods was completely 
finished. It was a good job and the detail 
received well-deserved commendation. 

"Shad " was a Georgian and spoke with the 
delightful Southern accent. At our officers' 
mess, when he would start to talk we 'd stop 
him, much to his own amusement, and send 
an orderly out to hunt up an interpreter. 

Two Sergeants, Carroll Harris and Johnny 
Noyes, stayed behind two days with the 
Engineer Sergeants of the relieving regiment 
and showed them all our detailed plans of 
work, the way we handled our shifts, the get- 
ting of supplies; in short, gave them all the 
help possible in getting a good start. 

Colonel Bunnell wisely insisted that our 
sector be turned over in the most complete 
manner. All maps, drawings, and plans were 
gone over carefully with the new officers and 
our officers took them over the whole terrain. 
This cooperation pleased our new friends 
mightily. From our experience in previous 



150 MY COMPANY 

sectors we knew how essential it was. The 
feeling of our officers and men was that it 
was just as important for the cause to do all 
we could for these new troops, coming to an 
unknown territory, in order that their work 
could be accomplished quickly and efficiently, 
as it was to us to finish the work itself. This 
feeling of helping the other fellow is preva- 
lent all through the service and it's the sort 
of thing that brings success. 

Finally, the time for departure came, the 
men all ready for the hike, the animals well 
groomed, and the wagons and whole " circus" 
train lined up, and we were off. 

"Joe Latrinsky' was very busy now. He 
said we were bound for Paris to parade on the 
Fourth of July. This was the last of June. 
With that thought in mind, our hike to our 
destination, Choloy, was an easy one. 

Here we were comfortably billeted in 
barns. The men were having just enough 
work to keep them in good condition. On 
July 2d came orders to entrain. "Joe" was 



JOE GOES TO PARIS 151 

now positive it was Paris. "Just in time to 
make the big parade on the Fourth." There 
was much cleaning of uniforms and burnish- 
ing-up of equipment. We were going to make 
a brave appearance in the big city. It looked 
to us all as if "Joe" was right this time. 

The long night ride passed quickly for the 
men. The cooking crew, who always slept 
under the 'soup gun' on the flatcars, were 
up with the sun. At a stop for water we got 
steaming oatmeal, coffee, bacon, and bread 
for the company. It was a bright, sunny day, 
beautiful country, and we were going straight 
toward Paris. The men lay back in their "8 
Chevaux ou 40 Hommes" cars, smoked, and 
remarked: "It's a great little war, after all." 

Gradually we began to go through large 
cities, the largest we had seen for months, and 
to see beautiful buildings and parks, no sign 
of war and devastation, and even "jolies 
femmes." 

A soldier is no different from any other 
human being. The vision of a beautiful wo- 



152 MY COMPANY 

man, with all her teeth and a pretty dress, 
bonnet, and all the fixings, is an inspiration 
after seeing for months hardly a dozen of the 
genus feminine, and then mostly the one- 
tooth variety of old woman like the appetite- 
destroyer of Roulecourt. 

These pretty girls, waving at us from build- 
ings or from the stations as we sped by, were 
cheered enthusiastically by the boys. Their 
artistic natures were touched as by a pictur- 
esque country scene, a beautiful sky effect, 
or the picture of a well-directed shell blowing 
up a hun artillery position. They never 
showed so much "pep' as this afternoon, 
singing, cheering, laughing, and listening to 
"Joe's' tales of beautiful Paree and the re- 
ception that awaited us there. 

Maps were eagerly studied. As we drew 
into one station, a suburb of Paris, we found 
it on the map. Gil Singleton, our tallest 
Corporal, who could see higher than any one 
else, cried: "There's the Eiffel Tower!" 

Our Lieutenant-Colonel, Crecelius, a splen- 




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JOE GOES TO PARIS 153 

did officer and gentleman, was in charge of 
our train. He took me with him here to report 
to the detraining officer and get the joyous 
news. Orders were handed to him, and even 
he, a man with a wonderfully even disposi- 
tion, forgot to give profuse thanks. Our 
orders were to turn about and go straight back 
to the nearest front. 

The men were getting all ready to detrain 
and were brushing the straw off their uni- 
forms, when the train pulled out in the other 
direction. They soon sensed the situation. 
Somehow the cheering and singing subsided. 
The pretty women seemed to have lost inter- 
est in us. That silent, mournful train moved 
back to the land of devastation. 

I think the Corporals told their men to cut 
the racket for a while, to get all the rest they 
could, and be prepared for whatever might be 
in store. "Joe Latrinsky" was in bad with 
every one. One more remark and he subsided 
for a long time: "So this is Paris! — Bah!" 
Singleton remarked, "Wasn't Eiffel Tower 



154 MY COMPANY 

pretty? Anyhow, we got closer than his 
Knobs the Kaiser ever will." 

Then the usual chorus of "C'est la guerre," 
and the company felt better and went to 
sleep. 

It was n't that they did n't want to get 
back to the front. They did; but they also 
did want that one holiday " Joe" had prom- 
ised them in the city they had heard so 
much about, and to parade those streets as 
American soldiers back from the front. 

The detraining point the next night was a 
hard place to work from — no raised quay, 
two old ramps or runways the only availa- 
ble means of getting our transportation and 
baggage off. Sergeant Ed Holmes was given 
charge of the work. He picked a crew and 
laid out a regular plan of action. The men 
were tired after the long train ride, but they 
went to it with a vengeance, as an artillery 
train was due later and we had to clear for 
them. 

We had the kitchen, wagons, and carts off, 



JOE GOES TO PARIS 155 

the animals all hitched up, baggage loaded, 
cars policed, and the whole works marching 
away in an hour. The detraining officer here, 
Lieutenant Leavitt Parsons, was to make a 
report on the detraining of the troop. He 
sent us off all set up by saying: "It's the best 
detraining I 've seen and a record in the Divi- 
sion." Lieutenant Parsons, years before, was 
a member of D Company, so perhaps his com- 
pliment was tempered with a bit of pride in 
his old outfit. He also gave us the cheering 
news that the boches had nightly air raids 
over this place. We decided to keep moving. 
The men had had nothing hot up to this 
time, a long hard march was ahead of us, and 
we decided to take a chance and en route to 
cook some coffee. We got the old rolling 
kitchen going in the rear of the column. Only 
soft dry wood was available, and, ye gods, 
what a trail of sparks it left behind that col- 
umn. It seemed to us like a night picture of 
Broadway from the sky. The cooks worked 
like Trojans to get the water hot and to 



156 MY COMPANY 

camouflage the light. "Shorty" Morris and 
El Parin got away with new shoes from our 
supply department later, by burning theirs 
trying to stamp out the sparks that night. 

And then we heard the boche planes com- 
ing over. I don't think I ever worried more 
about my company in France than on that 
night. It seemed inevitable! Those terri- 
fying, destructive bombs must land in a 
minute! We got the company off the road 
quickly, then rushed to the kitchen. The 
cooks hated to do it, but the fires had to be 
extinguished. And, thank God, the coffee was 
hot. Every man but Lyman and his cooks 
themselves had a steaming cupful. It was a 
life-saver! Some of the men could never have 
made that march without it. You can talk 
all you want to about stimulants for troops: 
the best thing in the world, before a hard 
forced march or an attack, is a good old mess 
cup of hot coffee. 

We hiked all night long. The boche planes 
stayed around for a while. Much to our re- 






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JOE GOES TO PARIS 157 

lief, they did not throw anything at us. It 
was one of the longest and hardest marches 
we had experienced. The officers themselves 
marched, making men who were knocked out 
ride the horses, and carried packs of the men 
who were known to feel a hike the most. This 
kept the men going; the memory of the coffee 
was still with us, dawn came on, so we could 
smoke, and we finally landed, footsore and 
weary, at our ordered destination. This was 
a little town, Chamigny, on the Marne. Other 
troops had come in, so the billets we were to 
have were occupied. The men just sank down 
anywhere on the ground and slept. Some 
wisely bathed their poor, aching feet, then 
unrolled the packs and made a more comfort- 
able bunk. 

Denny Brunton had found a deserted house 
for the officers. It was evidently an artist's 
— beautiful paintings, statuary, tapestries, 
etc., and the house most artistically arranged. 

At the German advance the owner had 
evidently left everything untouched in his 



158 MY COMPANY 

anxiety to get his loved ones away from the 
oncoming savages. I'm sure many of us 
would have given much for a little piece of 
tapestry or one of the many silver ornaments 
strewn around, as a souvenir of that pretty 
home. Not one thing was taken or even dis- 
turbed. I often wondered how the Germans 
would have treated that home, left untouched 
by American troops. 

This morning we had just dozed off when 
word came that Lieutenant Colonel Crece- 
lius wanted me. Upon my reporting he said, 
" There's some mistake in this town; your 
company will have to move to a farm a few 
miles ahead." 

I said, "Very good, sir.' : But those few 
miles for these men with their heavy packs 
seemed a long distance. He sent me in his 
car to find this farm. On returning, still 
thinking about those packs, I discovered an 
ammunition train of the 2d Division in the 
woods. I got the Captain out of his bunk 
and begged for a truck. Some day I hope to 



JOE GOES TO PARIS 159 

meet that 2d Division Captain again and buy 
him the best dinner the Biltmore can set up. 
He gave me a big four-ton truck with driver. 
We got the men up, loaded on every pack, 
and covered the pile over with tarpaulins, 
so it looked like a load of supplies. Then the 
usual chorus of "Let's go." It's surprising 
how much more enthusiastic that cry of 
"Let's go" sounds without the packs. 

On the way to this farm we passed other 
American troops, apparently just over, for 
they wore the old campaign hats (we were 
allowed only the overseas cap and trench 
helmet). Queries from my boys, "Are you 
American soldiers?" This questioning was 
always a part of the game when we met new 
troops. It seemed ludicrous to look at a per- 
fectly good robust boy in the old khaki right 
from the States and inquire his nationality. 

The next morning orders came down that 
French troops were coming into this farm 
and that we were to move back to Chamigny. 
A good night's sleep in the fields had rested 



160 MY COMPANY 

every one, so no one grumbled, at least 
audibly. Back in the town, new troops had 
beaten us to it and what few billets were to 
be available for us were taken; even our art- 
ist's home was occupied. 

A few hundred yards out of town w T e found 
a wood that looked very attractive. With 
some hay we w T ere able to buy, we made our- 
selves comfortable and happy until we were 
ordered forward a few days later to the most 
interesting part of France we had yet seen — 
Chateau Thierry. 



CHAPTER X 

WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 

ChAteau Thierry was a few miles to the 
northeast of this town we were in. Almost 
due north of us, perhaps ten miles, was the 
Bois de Belleau, and that sector where our 
2d Division had stopped the mad drive of the 
enemy. 

We had heard a lot about this 'scrap' 
and were proud of the work of that Division. 
No one knew just what did happen before 
that. The French were very tired. We should 
have been tired, too, if we had been at it as 
long as they had. Human endurance could 
not stand the strain. The overwhelming odds 
were too great. They were forced to give 
way. The Germans swarmed over in front of 
Soissons, took away all the pretty works my 
company built there in February and March, 
and came into Soissons. Then they kept on 



162 MY COMPANY 

going like mad and drove clear to Chateau 
Thierry. In this particular sector in front of 
us they ran up against our 2d Division, thrown 
in there hurriedly, and were hurled back. 

' Joe" had been very quiet since his retreat 
from Paris. Now he ventured to remark, 
"We're going up to relieve the 2d Di vision.' : 

This time he was right. Major Greenway 
said one morning to me: "I'm going up to 
look over the sector; should like to have you 
go with me." 

I was, of course, glad of the chance. We 
first drove to a forest, the Bois de Gros Jean, 
where some engineers were. It was to be our 
future home. Then we went on as far as we 
could and hiked into a wood in front of the 
boche positions. A Colonel of Marines de- 
tailed a Lieutenant as our guide. He showed 
us all about the woods, took us to an O.P., we 
crawling singly, and pointed out all our and 
the enemy's positions. It was most interest- 
ing. On our right was a little valley and then 
on a rise another wood. We looked at it with 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 163 

longing eyes. It was the Bois de Belleau. 

The Major expressed a strong desire to go 

there. The Lieutenant smiled and, pointing 

to the little valley, said : — 

"That place you have to cross is 'Death 
Valley'; the point beyond is 'Suicide Point' 
— both well named. It's almost impossible 
to get over there except at night." 

"All right," the Major said, "we'll come 
out some night," thanked the Lieutenant for 
his kindness, and dismissed him. Then he 
turned to me. 

"Captain, now we'll go to the Bois de 
Belleau!" 

If he had been a Captain or Lieutenant, I 
should probably have argued the matter, 
but he being a Major my only reply could 
be, "Very good, sir, we'll go to the Bois de 
Belleau. " 

After crawling down to the edge of these 
woods and figuring the shortest distance 
across, I said, "Do you wish me to go first, 
sir, or do you prefer to go ahead?" 



164 MY COMPANY 

He very generously told me to do as I 
wished. 

In college I ran on the Track Team and 
felt that I still had a good sprint in my legs. 
I reasoned that if I went first, I 'd simply at- 
tract the enemy's attention, and I 'd be going 
so fast any enemy fire would fall behind me. 
I did n't wish the Major any hard luck, but 
felt he could turn back quickly when the 
shots fell behind me. This reasoning was for 
my own personal information. I thought it 
might be as well to adopt another line of just 
as logical reasoning with him. 

"Major, I'm the junior officer and should 
be the sacrifice if that be necessary. If I go 
first and get mine, you can report my heroic 
demise and see that my folks get the Govern- 
ment 'Ten Thousand.' Then you can size up 
the enemy fire and judge what your chances 
will be. If nothing happens, of course, it 
will be all right for you to hit the trail.' : 

I don't know whether my reasoning ap- 
pealed to him or not, but he gave me: — 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 165 

"On your marks, now, set — Go!" 
I wish some one could have had a stop- 
watch on my 440 dash. But, at that, the Ma- 
jor, starting back of me, almost beat me to it. 

When we entered those woods, we felt like 
standing uncovered; it seemed like sacred 
ground, the very spot where our boys had 
stopped the onrushing huns. A child would 
have known that an awful fight had gone on 
in those woods: trees all shot to pieces, foli- 
age destroyed, clothing, rifles, mess kits, am- 
munition, even machine guns, Loth American 
and German, strewn everywhere. And then 
the dead of both sides. Sometimes two oppo- 
nents were almost in a death grapple. And 
every one of our hoys, the Marines, we saw, 
was facing the enemy when he fell. 

Here was a German machine gun with the 
gunner chained to it. (We afterwards learned 
this had something to do with the mechanism 
of the piece, not to keep the gunner there.) 
There were two Germans in a little firing-pit, 
cuddled up together, both in the same posture 



166 MY COMPANY 

and both sighting their rifles held at the same 
position. In a little clearing was a group of 
eight of our boys, apparently a squad who had 
charged a boche machine gun when it got 
them all. Their bodies showed intense action 
and a "do or die" determination. 

We came upon one Marine who must have 
been a splendid physical specimen. He was 
perhaps six feet three inches in height, splen- 
didly proportioned. He was lying flat on his 
back looking up at the sky. He had torn 
open his blouse and taken out a little Bible 
with his mother's name on the fly-leaf. When 
the end was coining, we felt, he had remem- 
bered his mother's teachings and wanted to 
see her Good Book for the last time. He died 
with his hand resting on that opened Book 
on his breast. 

Whenever the man over there senses great 
danger, when he "goes over,' 5 or when he 
thinks the end is near, his thoughts turn to 
higher things. He thinks of his mother and 
loved ones, and of his God. 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 167 

The living, too, — those Marines, — showed 
the terrific struggle they had been through. 
With faces drawn and tired-looking, eyes dull, 
they seemed dazed. We talked to a great 
many of the officers here. Many different 
ideas were expressed about the fighting they 
had gone through, but all were of one opinion 
regarding the enemy. 'You get the boche 
out in an open fight and he shows a streak of 
yellow a mile wide." 

We made a thorough reconnoissance of the 
woods and studied the hasty intrenchments, 
machine-gun positions, and advanced posts. 
On the left we saw a shallow trench extending 
through a wheat-field. In that trench there 
were men lying down in the hot sun. They 
could hardly move without exposure to hos- 
tile fire. Xo one could get to them except at 
night. Every morning at three o'clock a detail 
crawled out with a cold meal of "Willy" and 
hardtack and one canteen of water. That was 
their sole repast for twenty-four hours, and 
that one canteen had to suffice for drinking, 



168 MY COMPANY 

shaving, and bathing. Not pleasant, but part 
of the game, and they took it all philosoph- 
ically. 

On the other side of the woods we came 
upon a clearing. In the center, in full view of 
the near-by German trenches, was a very 
pretty hunting lodge. We took a chance and 
entered it from the rear. It was partly de- 
molished. Handsome mural hunting scenes 
were still hanging and a large, costly vase, still 
filled with flowers, was suspended from the 
ceiling — a quiet, restful scene in strong con- 
trast to the picture of devastation outside 
and the disturbing noises of shrapnel and 
machine guns. 

On peeking through a hole in the wall we 
were startled at finding ourselves completely 
surrounded by huns! Luckily, they were all 
dead. There must have been twenty there, 
some sprawling on the ground, others hanging 
in trees or on the wires, where our shells had 
probably blown them. 

We were suddenly joined by three other 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 169 

American officers, who had crept in to make a 
study of the terrain in front — in front of the 
town of Bouresches, opposite. These officers 
were Engineers who have to do only with gas 
and flame. Theirs is a merry life. They jump 
from place to place, play one-night stands, 
launch a projector gas attack where the 
boche needs a little extra dose of nasty medi- 
cine. 

We had been with these Engineers once be- 
fore near Bernecourt. There they played their 
best show in France. The huns were acting 
badly and needed a lesson. The gas fellows 
had fifteen hundred of these projectors filled 
with deadly gas, all ready to shoot over at one 
charge. The wind was just right. Our zero 
hour was to be at 3 a.m. We learned after- 
ward that the enemy had planned an Infantry 
attack that morning and for zero hour they 
had picked 3.20 a.m. Thousands and thou- 
sands of the enemy were massed in their first- 
line trenches all ready to come over. 
Then our fifteen hundred projectors re- 



170 MY COMPANY 

leased that brilliant German instrument for 
modern warfare, the gas. They never came 
over. Our aviators reported that for three 
days and three nights the huns were carrying 
back their dead. It's encouraging to give 
them such a pleasant dose of their own medi- 
cine with such results! 

After exacting a promise from our brother 
officers of an invitation to the one-night stand 
if they played Bouresches, we split up and 
crawled back to the woods. All in all, our 
first visit to the Belleau Wood was most 
interesting and instructive. 

The Major reported to General Cole, whose 
Infantry brigade with our battalion of Engi- 
neers was to occupy the sector. He described 
the terrain positions and strongly recom- 
mended that all dead be buried before our 
troops went in. The General at once saw the 
necessity of this from a sanitary standpoint if 
nothing else. It was a gruesome, unpleasant 
job and fraught with danger, but my company 
felt complimented when the General and 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 171 

Major selected us. That day we secured four 
big trucks and I took half the company, leav- 
ing Chamigny about midnight. It was some 
wild ride ! Not one of the drivers or men had 
been on these roads before or even knew our 
destination. 

Perhaps you have ridden in a big lurching 
truck for ten miles in a black night, over 
unknown narrow roads through woods, and 
wondered just where you 'd land. Add to that 
the sensation of going in that blackness with- 
out lights of any kind, no noise, the wheels 
slipping off the road, going over unseen shell- 
holes, expecting every minute hostile shells or 
bombs, not knowing just when you may run 
into an enemy anxious to get you, and with 
the responsibility of a hundred and twenty- 
five men, every one depending on you. You 
then get a touch of my feelings that night. 

However, when we left those trucks and 
started in the darkness to find the Belleau 
Wood over a mile and a half farther, all pre- 
vious sensations seemed trivial. We went 



172 MY COMPANY 

safely through one wood, and then, stealing 
stealthily along, holding on to each other's 
rifles, started through another. Then we lost 
our bearings completely. For a moment I 
thought we were in No Man's Land {we were 
pretty close to it). One false step and I should 
have sacrificed my whole command, perhaps 
even landed in boche trenches. We were ready 
to fight, but our mission was to bury dead, and 
we did not want more than were already there. 
To make matters worse, morning began to 
come on. I ordered the men to take cover in 
the woods and with faithful Denny Brun- 
ton tried to locate somebody or something. 
We finally found an American sentry, who 
piloted us to his Captain. I aroused him and 
secured a runner as a guide. We started off 
again, but after a half-mile or so the guide lost 
his bearings as well. Fortunately, just then 
I spied a landmark I recognized and called to 
the men to follow me, and we hurried to it. 
We skirted another wood, got to a wood road, 
and entered the Bois de Belleau at last. 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 173 

It sure was some trip! We first found all 
the American boys and gave them the best 
burial possible; took their tags and little be- 
longings. We were especially careful of the 
little Bible on that boy's breast. I took one 
platoon ahead to find more bodies. Suddenly 
I discovered that we had gone beyond the 
little trenches or breastworks and that no one 
was around. This time I was sure we were in 
the wrong place and too far forward. I sig- 
naled the men to lie down and take cover. 
About fifty yards ahead behind a log were 
two forms — one moved, so they could n't be 
dead. I crawled ahead with drawn pistol, de- 
termined to find out where we were. I was a 
bit startled by a noise right by my side. There 
was Denny Brunton with pistol raised. He 
would n't leave me. We crawled along to- 
gether until we found our two supposed ene- 
mies. Much to our relief they proved to be 
one of our own small outposts. They showed 
us some more German trenches filled with 
dead huns. 



174 MY COMPANY 

The boys started on their interment. We 
buried upwards of fifty that morning, all we 
could find there that were not too far out in 
No Man's Land to reach in daylight. It was 
a pretty tough job. Some of these bodies had 
lain there for two or three weeks and were in 
terrible condition. Many of the men put their 
gas-masks on, as the stench was stifling. 

At noon I called it off and sent the men 
creeping back through the wheat to the south, 
one hundred yards apart, to the Bois de Gros 
Jean, for food and shelter. Almost as the last 
man left we saw the tall form of Chaplain Ed- 
wards coming through the woods. He knew of 
our work and had come away out there to pay 
his respects to these dead American boys. 
We visited every one of these graven; a cross 
with tag had been placed over each one. It 
was a strange sight, we two standing there 
uncovered in the bright sunlight a few hun- 
dred yards from the enemy who had killed 
these men, the good parson with the open 
Book saying the last words and a prayer 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 175 

over these brave Americans who had given 
their lives for their country in this gallant 
fight. 

Just realize these conditions — our proxim- 
ity to the enemy, the hasty burials, the shell- 
ing going on, the dangerous task of the Chap- 
lain getting there. Then, perhaps, you can 
realize what kind of fellows our Army Chap- 
lains are, and can realize that every American 
boy, no matter where he may be killed, is 
given a proper burial and the last sad rites 
by a man of God. 

Our home, now, was in the Gros Jean For- 
est, fairly close to the front lines and very 
thick. Great precautions were taken to keep 
the woods undisturbed and unnoticed by the 
enemy. No noticeable traffic in or out dur- 
ing the day, no lights or fires of any kind at 
night. Our whole battalion was located in this 
forest, and so good was the discipline of the 
men that the bodies apparently did not know 
any one was living there. They shelled in 
front of us and around us and three or four 



176 MY COMPANY 

miles in the rear, but never during our stay 
threw anything into our own woods. 

The men's billets were different from any- 
thing we had yet had. Each man dug him- 
self a little hole in the ground perhaps seven 
feet long, three or four feet deep, and three 
or four feet wide. Then he covered it over 
with brush and called it his P.C. Some of the 
men made more elaborate homes, and for the 
officers they made bigger holes in the ground 
covered over with sandbags. We were all 
very comfortable here, and the men seemed to 
enjoy our method of living. Many of them 
had signs over their homes, such as, " Sneak 
Inn," " Hotel Astor." On the tree where the 
kitchen was parked, they put up a large sign, 
"Lyman's Cafe," and one wit, remembering 
our many travels in horse-cars, put up a sign, 
well printed: — 

CHEVAUX 
1 HOMME 

As soon as the battalion was all consolidated 
they were given a day off to make their little 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 177 

homes and get rested. Major Greemvay had 
several conferences with General Cole in lay- 
ing out a defense plan for the brigade sector. 
The General was in hearty accord with every- 
thing and gave the finest kind of cooperation 
to the Engineers. When the plans were ap- 
proved. Major Greenway had a conference 
with his company commanders and the work 
was all laid out for each company. 

There was practically no defensive system 
in front of us, except a few places where the 
men had dug themselves in during the fight- 
ing. We were to lay out and build a system of 
trenches and wire in front of them, and later 
machine-gun positions, the same as in other 
sectors. It looked to us as if the plan would 
be to hold this line, and we feared there was 
still no thought of offensive action, something 
that we all heartily desired and really needed. 
In front of us was the town of Lucy Bocage. 
Lucy was a very bad girl; no one could stay 
near her very long and live. That town seemed 
to be a favorite spot for boche artillery to go 



178 MY COMPANY 

for. It was decided that the Engineers should 
build a trench in front of Lucy running to 
the Ravine Gobert, to the right of our sector. 
This ravine ran for a long distance, and our 
working parties went through it every night 
to keep clear of fields and roads. Gobert must 
have been a brother of Lucy's, for he was a 
bad actor, too. The very first night we went 
out, we got it, and lost three men. The next 
night, almost at the same point, the shelling 
started. We had just begun to issue the 
tools in a little dump we had organized. I 
ordered the company to take shelter on the 
enemy side of the ravine, and watched the 
shells break. 

They were coming on a straight line, each 
one nearer. We moved the company forward 
a hundred yards, and had just got away when 
two shells landed squarely in the ravine where 
our Fourth Platoon had been. Unfortunately, 
the company following us had moved and they 
.got it. A number of the brave fellows in their 
First Platoon were killed and many wounded. 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 179 

Every night going down that ravine, every 
man knew we should surely be fired upon, and 
after our work was seen by enemy aviators 
that we 'd get shelling in the trench as well. 
No one showed fear or any desire to quit. 

Mind you, it 's infinitely harder to be shelled 
by an enemy, shelled every night, expecting 
every minute to have one land right on you, 
than it is to go into action where you can at 
least make a fight for it. The men stood it 
wonderfully, but it got to a few. 

After one of these affairs, on checking up 
in the morning, a Corporal was missing. 
Searching parties failed to find him. Later we 
found an ambulance-driver who stated he had 
picked up a Corporal answering this descrip- 
tion. The Corporal was not wounded, simply 
lost his memory. All he knew was that he was 
an American soldier and came from some- 
where in the United States. 

Another night, they were shelling us while 
working on the trench in front of Lucy. I had 
a man I '11 call Bond, because that is nothing s, 



180 MY COMPANY 

like his right name. He was a good soldier and 
brave. A shell hit directly in front of the part 
of the trench where he was working. With a 
yell Bond started to dive from the trench to 
where the shell landed to "get the hun who 
came over on it." His comrades pulled him 
back. Then he seized his gun and bayonet 
and began wildly to stab five of the enemy he 
said were there. It took four men to control 
him and get him back to our woods. The next 
morning Bond talked as reasonably as any 
one until he said : — 

"Captain, I'm sorry those four boches got 
away from me last night. I'll get 'em yet. 
That feller I killed is gone for fair. Had n't 
you better send a detail out to bury him? 
He '11 begin to smell in a few days, I cut him 
up so." 

No boches were anywhere near us that 
night. Poor Bond simply went out of his 
head; the strain was too much. 

Every precaution has to be taken to pre- 
vent cases of this kind, everything done to 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 181 

harden men to keep cool under fire. These 
cases are very few, but often one man, timid 
and nervous, may see an imaginary enemy 
and stampede a whole command. A case of 
this kind happened one night at the other end 
of the line. There was another long section of 
this first-line trench to be dug by the Infan- 
try. Major Greenway detailed Captain Brush 
of our F Company to build one half and I was 
to have the other half. We each were to have 
four companies of Infantry. We had a tool 
dump at the back of the woods, where after 
night came on my four companies reported 
in long single files. After receiving tools, they 
moved forward, led by Major Greenway, to 
the trench. I was to superintend the distri- 
bution of tools, then follow the fourth com- 
pany to the line. They were going nicely. 
Three companies or more had gone ahead 
and we were hurrying up the fourth. Sud- 
denly I heard a noise — I thought a com- 
mand. There in the dark that whole crowd, 
three companies, were tearing back toward 



182 MY COMPANY 

me, throwing away tools, and running like 
mad. It was necessary to draw a pistol and 
threaten to shoot any man that passed. They 
cooled off, and with the assistance of their of- 
ficers they were reformed and sent back with 
their tools. They then worked efficiently 
and accomplished a splendid work before 
daylight. Some nervous chap up among the 
first imagined he had seen the enemy and 
had yelled, "They're on us; to the rear 
double time!" In the dark, many thought it 
an officer's command, and all had stampeded. 

At the front we would never allow the order 
"To the rear" to be given. If necessary to 
march or turn men to the rear the order would 
be "About face. Forward, march" — always 
the idea of Forward. 

Even in this serious mix-up there was an 
amusing incident. When it all happened the 
Major was leading. The men turned back so 
quickly he could stop only the man nearest 
him. He hooked that man around the neck 
with his trench cane, and shaking his finger 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 183 

in the man's face cried in a dramatic way: 
"Young man, you're on historic ground. 
Here is where the American boys saved Paris 
and held the enemy. Hold your ground ; don't 
stain this sacred place by turning back." 

At the Major's mess many times afterward 
we would rehearse this stirring and melodra- 
matic scene, to the Major's own amusement. 

During the day experienced Sergeants 
would be sent up with the officers to where 
our night work was to be done, to tape it out, 
mark location of dump, etc. 

Even though the first-line positions were 
only a couple of miles forward, and perhaps 
shells were falling a mile behind us, the boys 
would usually make a great scene. They 
would crowd around these Sergeants as if they 
were going to war. Cries of "Get a hun for 
me ! ' "Bring us back a souvenir of the war ! " 
Then they would go back to the Sergeant's 
little shelter homes and hang out Service 
Flags ! 

After my company had finished the trench, 



184 MY COMPANY 

it was necessary to put up the barbed-wire 
system in front of it. The work had to be 
done in one night. To save the hike out and 
back and to avoid going through the Ravine 
Gobert, Major Greenway obtained some 
trucks which took us after dark to a wood 
just back of Lucy. They were to return and 
await us there at three in the morning. We 
had the work all planned out; each squad had 
its own task to do, working in teams. The 
strongest men were to drive the stakes with 
mallets covered with burlap to prevent a 
noise, others to reel off the wire, others to 
wind. When each squad finished, it was to 
leapfrog over and take the head of the line. 

The work was going along nicely, when 
suddenly two boche aviators came over. 
They pulled a new trick and a terrifying one. 
Parachutes were dropped with large torches 
in the baskets. Those torches lit up the land- 
scape for miles. My men had good trench 
discipline and immediately dropped. Not a 
man moved; every man just made himself 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 18; 



part of the terrain. It seemed ages before 
those torches finally landed. 

I had a carrying party from another organ- 
ization. They moved and must have been 
observed by the enemy. Soon the shelling 
started. Twice it was necessary to take the 
men out and scatter them or put them in a 
ravine in the woods. When the shelling 
stopped we returned. 

At about two in the morning we had 
only a hundred yards to go. Corporal Walter 
(Broxy) Shaw's squad, the 6th, had just 
leapfrogged over. I gathered them around 
me like a football team. 

"Boys, only one hundred yards more; 
make it fast. We'll be through in half — ' 

Whizz — CRASH — BANG ! 

A shell we had not heard landed squarely in 
us. We shall never forget that terrible red 
light, nearly blinding us, and the terrific roar 
ringing in our ears for days. When I came to, 
I was lying down covered with earth. I 
thought I was dead, but my legs seemed all 



186 MY COMPANY 

right, my head was on, and I stood up. There 
down the line were the men, apparently 
dazed, not knowing what to do. Feeling sure 
more shells were coming, I yelled : — 
" Everybody jump to the trench, quick!' 
Just as I arrived at the parapet, I turned 
and looked back. The smoke was just lifting 
from that hell-hole. There on the ground 
were seven or eight of my boys. Turning to 
the men jumping into the trench, I cried: — 
" Who's got the guts to go back there?' 
Every man who heard it jumped out and 
ran back. There was Broxy, the Corporal, 
dead, the others all wounded, some badly. 
Every one of those wounded boys refused to 
be touched until the others had been fixed up. 
Fred Adams, an old Newton High football 
player, had his leg shattered. He said: — 

"Captain, don't bother about me; mine's 
only slight. Take Jimmy Mullen, he's hit 
bad. I just feel as if some football feller had 
kicked me in the shin, and I '11 get that fel- 
ler yet." 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 187 

Jimmy Mullen protested: "I'm all right; 
take Jim Lewis." 

Johnny Rines was helping get the men on 
stretchers when some one whispered: "Cap- 
tain, Johnny's hit, too." 

I went to him while he was working and 
only knew he was hit because a part of his 
shoulder was gone! 

When we got them to the first-aid station, 
Lewis, who had been hit again by the next 
shell, refused to be taken in for treatment 
until every other wounded comrade had been 
attended to. Afterwards he proved to be the 
worst of all, with two bad wounds. 

There 's the American soldier for you ! God 
bless him! 

One more incident this night. The Ser- 
geants checked up their platoons and sent 
them back to the point where the trucks were 
to pick us up. As we hurried back through 
Lucy, a Sergeant discovered he could n't 
check one man, Ralph Gardner. It was, of 
course, my duty to try and locate him. 



188 MY COMPANY 

"You all go on to the trucks. Hold the 
last one for me. I'll go back and try to find 
him," I ordered. After running a few hun- 
dred yards, I somewhat repented my action. 
There was n't a soul around, it was yet very 
dark, they were still shelling, and for all I 
knew the enemy might even be around that 
trench. Frankly, I was a bit nervous. It was 
so blamed lonesome I would have given my 
month's salary to turn back. However, I had 
made the bluff and had to see it through. I 
reached the trench and went up and down 
it searching and calling, "Gardner." I went 
down to the awful place where we had been 
hit, and all around the place. Finally I de- 
cided Gardner must have gone back in one of 
the first trucks (as we found afterwards he 
had). I started to turn back, when suddenly 
in the road I saw a dark figure watching me. 
With pistol at the alert, I challenged, " Who's 
there?" 

"It's Milliken, Captain." He had dogged 
my footsteps all the way down here. 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 189 

"What the devil are you doing here?' I 
demanded. "I ordered you to the trucks." 

"I know, Captain, but I could n't let you 
come back here alone." 

Can you blame an officer for loving his 
men? 

The next night came another experience 
for us. At evening mess an order came down. 
We officers laughed, for it sounded just like 
our old maneuver problems back in the old 
camp days in the States, and no more thrill- 
ing. Something like this I read to the men at 
mess: — 

The enemy have crossed the Marne to-day in 
three places. Will probably attack our forces 
during the night. D Company will move after 
dark, and take a position on the right of the road 
leading north from Voie de Chatel. You will be 
prepared to repel any enemy attack and hold the 
position at all costs. 

The men cheered lustily and seemed elated. 
"Hurrah! " one said, "no work to-night, just 
fighting." 

This position was about two miles away. It 



190 MY COMPANY 

was reached by leaving the road near Paris 
Farm Cross-Roads, going down a gully, then 
through woods. Every man carried a shovel, 
and every second man a pick as well, in addi- 
tion to every bit of trench equipment. We 
took along our salvaged "chau-chauts," extra 
ammunition, and even some machetes. My 
company resembled a young arsenal, and 
were ready for a fight or a frolic. The roads 
were very congested, the Infantry and ma- 
chine-gun outfits were moving up, too. There 
was much tiresome delay. We made good 
progress after leaving the road, through the 
gully, until — we went into gas ! It was phos- 
gene — not a heavy concentration, but bad 
enough for the masks to be instantly adjusted. 
Getting through those woods was some job. 
The men kept in touch by each holding the 
end of the front man's shovel. It was pitch 
darkness; we were going through unfamiliar 
woods, wearing masks, and stumbling along 
with all our hardware and junk. After a time 
I tested for gas. It was past us now, so I or- 



WHERE PARIS WAS SAVED 191 

dered the masks off. The going was much 
easier for a few moments until this time we 
got mustard gas! Masks on again. More 
groping and stumbling along. One good thing 
those masks with mouth and nose pieces do 

— they prohibit cursing. 

It really is strange how a company of over 
two hundred men stretched out in single file 

— a long column under such circumstances 

— ever reaches its objective. They somehow 
do it. 

When we took our position the men were 
ordered to take two-pace intervals and dig 
themselves in. Some of the men, always in- 
clined to work easily, did not hurry in the 
digging, and at first leaned on the shovels 
a good deal. Then came the fireworks, the 
fastest shelling we ever saw. The sky was 
ablaze — flares, rockets, bursting shells, with 
beautiful blue lights, " eighty-eight" Austrian 
" whizz-bangs' coming so fast we couldn't 
count them, and the bigger ones bursting on 
the ground. 



192 MY COMPANY 

It was a wonderfully weird sight, and 
would have been most enjoyable were it not 
that occasionally we would remember that 
some of this fireworks effect might hurt 
somebody. After that how those boys did 
dig! I never saw a better job of trench work 
accomplished in so short a time. 

This bombardment seemed like a prelimi- 
nary barrage before the attack, but the boches 
were either held up by our own artillery or 
something else happened, for they did n't 
come over that night. Most of the shelling was 
on our right, where F Company was stand- 
ing to. They were badly hit and lost a num- 
ber of men. We were fortunate. Indeed, when 
we landed back at our holes in the ground at 
daylight, every man checked in. Much relief 
and rejoicing, but still a bit of peevishness for 
not getting a crack at the huns. 



CHAPTER XI 

THE BIG PUSH 

My company had now been at various fronts 
almost six months. Our work had always 
been of a defensive nature, miles and miles of 
trenches, thousands of miles of barbed wire, 
dugouts, mines, camouflage, P.C.'s, O.P.'s, 
machine-gun positions, and about everything 
that goes with playing a long waiting de- 
fensive game. There never seemed to be a 
thought of tackling an offensive. 

"Joe Latrinsky" told the boys, "Some 
gink — I think he was a French officer named 
Napoleon — said, 'You can never win a war 
by being on the defensive all the time.' 

Although the boys jollied "Joe' about it 
and handed out, "You'd better advise Gen- 
eral Pershing in the matter," or, "Tell it to 
the Marines," they all agreed with him. 
Their job was to win the war and they knew 



194 MY COMPANY 

it. They would say, ' Just give us a chance 
at 'em and we'll win this old war." 

In May and June everybody seemed to be 
discouraged. They were tired and a bit stale. 
Everything was going wrong. The Russians 
had blown up. The British and Italians were 
simply holding on by desperate efforts, and 
the French had given way before that long 
and terrific drive of the Germans at Soissons. 
It looked pretty bad. No one doubted that 
the Allies would win, although jokingly the 
men would say to Logg and Bob Turner, our 
expert swimmers : — 

'Teach us to swim; we may need to swim 
the Channel." 

At all events, it looked like a long war 
yet. 

Then on July 17th orders came to us, and 
in three days everything was changed. Our 
whole outlook on life was different — we were 
na PPy- The orders said that our Division was 
to make a drive. My company was to fur- 
nish one platoon at first with a Second Lieu- 



THE BIG PUSH 195 

tenant, to go over with a regiment of Infan- 
try. Great excitement and rejoicing. 

The First Platoon with Lieutenant Shad- 
burn was selected as the heroes for this 
party. When they marched out at dark, the 
others cheered them off with the battle-cry, 
"Remember Broxy," our popular Corporal 
the huns had killed a few nights before. 

In front of the first-line positions of our 
sector were three towns, Torcy, Belleau, and 
Bouresches, held by the Germans. A railroad 
connected all these towns and went on to 
Chateau Thierry. Our orders were to take 
these towns and the railroad. 

Our position was taken with a battalion of 
Infantry at the edge of the Belleau Wood. 
Our particular objective was the railroad be- 
tween Belleau and Bouresches. Zero hour 
was to have been at 5 a.m., but something 
held it up, so it was about 9.15 that the 
advance was ordered. 

We "hopped off" in skirmish-line forma- 
tion with the first waves. The Germans 



196 MY COMPANY 

opened up at once with machine guns — they 
had a great number of them in nests. In the 
excitement of the moment there was a mix- 
up, and our platoon had to take over a whole 
company sector on the left of the Infantry 
battalion. Our intervals (space between men 
advancing) were therefore extended. 

One by one they began to get us. Those 
machine guns were terrible. The first man on 
our right was Jimmy Walsh, then "Fat" 
McCann, then Harry Slepian. McCann was 
hit quite badly in the leg, so lay down to rest. 
A boche machine gun just across the railroad 
in a clump of woods got him. Walsh was good 
and mad and started for that gun. Now, he 
knew that behind that gun there were prob- 
ably three or four of the enemy. They had a 
machine gun. All he had was a rifle and bay- 
onet. Yet that boy, the same as every other 
American boy over there, knew he was master 
of any three or four huns that ever lived. It 
was not bravado; it was his honest-to-Gawd 
feeling, for he went after them! Jimmy got 



THE BIG PUSH 197 

to the railroad, and crawled over it dragging 
his rifle after him. Then he got his. His right 
arm and hand were hit. He realized the odds 
were against him then, as he could n't use his 
rifle. He abandoned it, crawled back to where 
McCann was lying, pulled out his first aid 
and bandaged up his leg. Then he yelled to 
Slepian : — 

"Hey, Sleepy, come on over and help me 
get Fat out of here." 

These two boys got McCann around the 
shoulders, rose and ran ten feet, and dropped. 
As soon as they stood up the boches opened 
up. By fast advances of a few feet at a time, 
they finally carried McCann to the Bois de 
Belleau. There they found a stretcher and a 
"bearer" to relieve Walsh. When they got to 
the first-aid station, McCann was taken in 
and treated. Jimmy Walsh finally said to the 
medical officer : — 

"Lieutenant, is McCann fixed up all 
right?" 

"Yes, we're finished with him." 



198 MY COMPANY 

"Then would you mind looking at my arm? 
Somebody hit it awhile ago." 

It was a physical impossibility to go far- 
ther than this railroad against this terrific 
machine-gun action with a frontal Infantry 
attack. The battle gradually narrowed down 
to a series of combats between small units. In 
the melee, all thought of any one organization 
was lost; every man saw where he could do 
the most good and went to it. Here would be 
a few Infantrymen crawling to get a machine- 
gun nest by the flank. One of our men would 
see their object and join with them. There 
would be another group trying to get around a 
little wood ; others would run to help them out. 

Bill Sobozenski, one of my best shots, spied 
some Germans in the trees to his right. He 
threw up a little breastwork, squatted down 
behind it, and coolly began to pick those 
boches off the trees. Soby said afterwards: 
"It seemed just like shooting at the targets 
in our old rifle range." 



THE BIG PUSH 199 

„ Freddie Maguire was a boy the proprietor 
of a Boston hotel had sent to me a year or 
more ago with a note, "This boy will go 
through hellfire if you get him mad." 

Now Freddie was mad. He'd seen some 
of our boys, while going through a clump of 
woods, shot up from the rear. He spotted a 
hun sniper hidden in a tree, crawled over, 
took careful aim, and fired. He registered the 
white disc for a bull's-eye. Freddie watched 
that hun helmet hit the ground, and noted 
with satisfaction that the sniper's head was 
inside. He then crawled along to hunt more 
game, but the pesky machine guns got him. 
Some of the other boys found him that night 
cutting a notch in his rifle stock. His only 
comment on the way to hospital was, "I'm 
an awful boob; I should have five notches 
on that gun." 

So it was with them all, going into their 
first real attack and close fighting, cheerful, 
daring, and happy to be in it. 

Lieutenant Shadburn was splendid. How 



200 MY COMPANY 

he ever escaped death is a miracle, walking up 
and down the railroad track shooting huns 
with his pistol, encouraging and watching the 
men. 

Suddenly the enemy started to pour 
through the open space on our left to cut us 
off. Shadburn sent word to the Infantry offi- 
cer in charge. He ordered the men left in this 
position to retire to the woods near by and 
hold there to prevent being flanked. Later 
the whole line moved forward again. This 
time the boches could n't hold. Our men had 
got on their flank and they could no longer 
withstand the determined American attack. 

A few hours later our men were in Torcy, 
Belleau, and Bouresches. The enemy held 
positions just outside the towns, keeping up 
their fast machine-gun fire, but our mission 
in the first advance was accomplished. Our 
own men who survived had been separated 
and mixed up with the Infantry. After the 
scrapping, one by one they reported back to 
our woods. The first man in was Piatt Spen- 




Our First Prisoner, the "Class Baby" 



THE BIG PUSH 201 

cer. He thought he was the sole survivor of 
our party. Then "General" Woods blew in. 
Leon Porter, the motor-cycle driver, came 
next. Much to our delight, he had another 
fellow with him carrying all his equipment. 
He was a boche whom Porter had captured. 
The boys called him "Our Class Baby." This 
picture of him I took from his pocket was a 
souvenir of our first captive. 

All the men showed what they had been 
through — clothes torn, bodies scratched by 
the barbed wire, covered with grime and 
dirt, but all filled with enthusiasm and "pep" 
over their experience. 

Carroll Harris and Ken Henderson, the 
Sergeants with the party, were missing. They 
had done wonderful work leading their sec- 
tions and encouraging their men. Toward 
night they reported and were warmly wel- 
comed. They had stayed back to check up 
on all the men and to see that the wounded 
were cared for. 

Still no word of "Shad." The last man to 



202 MY COMPANY 

see him thought he was wounded. Afterwards 
I took First Sergeant Bohlin and Denny 
Brunton in a search for him. We went di- 
rectly to the first-aid dressing-station just 
back of the line. There we found Lieutenant 
Kirkpatrick, a medical officer friend from our 
home town. He had been on duty thirty-six 
hours, and hundreds of cases of wounded had 
passed through that little hole in the ground 
of his that day. He felt sure an officer, badly 
wounded, had been brought there tallying 

4 

with "Shad's" description, and had been sent 
back to a base hospital. His Sergeant thought 
so, too. 

Back in my dugout about midnight I was 
thinking about poor "Shad" and hoping his 
wounds were not serious, when I heard voices 
outside. Suddenly a form burst through my 
blanket door and there stood that tall Geor- 
gian youth, laughing, and without a scratch ! 
We hugged him for sheer joy. He had been 
searching for men he thought missing before 
he would report himself. Filled with his 



THE BIG PUSH 203 

story, he was like a schoolboy, just bubbling 
over. There were yet three men unaccounted 
for: Corporal Buswell (Buzzie), Corporal 
Earl Covey, and Dave Rittenberg. Three 
searching parties out, all volunteers. We 
found poor Covey in the wheat. A machine- 
gun bullet had stopped him and apparently a 
shell bursting near killed him. Long after- 
wards we learned that Rittenberg had been 
wounded and taken prisoner. He is now in a 
German prison hospital. No trace was ever 
found of 'Buzzie. ,: He had been wounded, 
and we felt when the huns swept around the 
flank they also captured him. ; 

The next morning I secured some trans- 
portation to visit every first-aid station and 
evacuation hospital in our brigade sector, and 
obtained a complete report on every one of 
our wounded and the nature of the case. Out 
of our little band who went out to this 
'party" more than half were killed, wounded, 
or missing. 

All of these stations and hospitals were 



204 MY COMPANY 

filled with men just brought from the battle- 
field. I saw hundreds of them. Another day, 
later on at the station at Chateau Thierry, 
I saw rows of wounded boys on stretchers 
just brought in. Those rows were four deep 
and extended several hundred yards. In all 
of these places I probably saw a thousand or 
more of our American soldiers with every con- 
ceivable kind of a wound — some with legs 
or arms blown away, some with eyes shot 
out, many with chins gone, others with every 
muscle in their bodies shaking as with palsy, 
shell-shocked, some with bodies burned by 
gas so badly that they were black. 

In one little operating-room a Sergeant was 
brought in with eighteen wounds. He spied a 
friend there. With his one good hand he 
waved greetings. 

"Hello, Bill; what the hell are you doing 
here?" 

"I got a little lead in me last night. ,: 
' That 's nothin' ; I beat yer. I got a whole 
arsenal in me," the Sergeant laughed. 




Corporal Elmer Buswell 
(Buzzie) 



THE BIG PUSH 205 

As they laid him on the operating-table, 
he said : — 

"Say, Doc, don't a Buddy drag a smoke 
out er this mess?" 

The doctor gave him a cigarette. He took 
a long puff; then: — 

'Gee, that's great; now go ahead with 
your dirty work, Doc," and went under. 

That's just one case in thousands. Con- 
sider the numbers of wounded men I 've told 
you of, then consider the fortitude of the 
American soldier when I tell you that I have 
yet to hear a wounded American boy com- 
plain, murmur, groan, or in any way intimate 
that he is suffering. It is marvelous. We had 
all admired the spirit of the British and 
French soldiers when wounded, but you talk 
to the doctors and nurses over there and 
they '11 say, as I do, that there is nothing the 
world has ever seen to compare with the 
nerve and the fortitude and the courage of 
our boys when they are wounded. 

Those doctors and nurses over there are 



206 MY COMPANY 

America's best. Our whole hospital system 
has been built up wonderfully well. The offi- 
cers and men sent to the base (S.O.S.) hospi- 
tals receive as good treatment as it is possible 
to obtain in the world. I can speak from per- 
sonal knowledge, as I was in Base Hospital 15 
for two weeks in the fall of 1917. If I had been 
paying a thousand dollars a week, I could not 
have had better, more thorough care nor more 
scientific treatment. The men there were just 
as well looked after. If your man in France is 
in a base hospital, you may be sure he is well 
cared for in every way. 

Now that we had made a start, it was evi- 
dently the intention of the leaders to keep on. 
I received orders to send another platoon to 
join the Infantry going forward. This time it 
was Lieutenant Bateman with the Fourth 
Platoon. We went up in trucks until shells 
began to drop around. Then the drivers felt 
they had only gasoline enough to get back 
from this point. I led the men in single file. 



THE BIG PUSH 207 

Lieutenant Bateman brought up the rear to 
keep the men closed up. We had a mile or 
more to go to the point where they were to go 
over. This night taught us how easy it is for 
men to lose contact in the dark. The trail 
was circuitous and left the road at a sharp 
angle. I took a very slow pace, looked back 
every few minutes, sent runners back, and all 
seemed going well. 

Arriving at the designated point I had the 
men pass me and lie down to rest until fur- 
ther orders. To my consternation only about 
half my men went by. I had Oscar Bohlin 
with me this night as an officer. Orders came 
that day making him a Second Lieutenant. If 
ever a man deserved a commission it was this 
old tried and true First Sergeant. I sent him 
in one direction and faithful Denny Brunton 
in another. Bohlin saved the day for us. He 
found the lost sheep almost in the enemy lines 
by Torcy. 

The men in the middle of the line had been 
carrying heavy bombs we had made. They 



208 MY COMPANY 

stopped for a moment to change hands. That 
moment was enough to lose contact with the 
men forward. Instead of turning to the right 
at the trail, they went straight ahead toward 
the enemy. It was two hours before they 
were all rounded up and the cold sweat on my 
brow disappeared. 

Then I reported to the Infantry Major and 
turned my platoon over to him. They 
worked and went forward with this battalion 
for several days after that. 

The next morning orders came to move for- 
ward again. This time it was Torcy, the town 
we had just wrested from the boches. It was 
a sad mess when we entered. Think of the 
main street of a country village with all the 
trees felled across it, and half the buildings in 
the middle of it. For good measure pile in it all 
the old junk, clothing, and empty cans you 
can find; dig up dead horses and mules and 
humans, add them to the collection; then turn 
on all the gas jets in town. Perhaps you'll 
have a very mild picture of Torcy or of any 



THE BIG PUSH 209 

of the many towns we went through on this 
trip. 

Our first job was to turn "white wings" 
and clean the streets. Artillery would be 
coming up later. We must make way for 
them, and we did. 

Orders were to stay in Torcy that night. It 
was filled with dead. There was gas still 
around and noisome smells everywhere. It 
was no place for an honest man to pass a 
peaceful, happy night. I, therefore, moved 
the company out at night to a wooded hill 
near by. We pitched our little "pup" tents, 
got the old "soup gun' going, and had a 
bountiful repast, a good smoke, and a big 
night's sleep. 

On the move again, bright and early in the 
morning. Word came that the huns had just 
evacuated Etrepilly. We were to go there, 
working on the roads en route, filling in all 
shell-holes and making the roads passable for 
the Artillery to follow our advance. 

The men worked hard this day, and when 



210 MY COMPANY 

we marched into Etrepilly at dusk, they were 
tired. This town, like Torcy, was not a fit 
place for men to stay. We again found a wood 
close by and made our camp there. The wagon 
train came along. Our cooks soon had the old 
stew steaming up. We were enjoying this 
gypsy life and the one-night stands. But as 
Phil Saele — he of the Winter Garden Show 
Company — said, "This must be a bum show 
town; can't even play one night here"; for 
at mess a dispatch rider dashed in with new 
orders. Our battalion was ordered to move 
ahead at once and go into action as Infantry. 
It was a crucial time; every man was needed 
to fight. My company was to report to the 
102d Infantry, who were to attack at Trugny. 
Zero hour was to be 3.45 a.m. 

Now, we had heard a lot about Trugny that 
day coming up. Three times Infantry had 
gone against it, and three times the terrible 
hun machine-gun fire had mowed them down. 
It was an impossible position to take in that 
way. 




Camping Out: One of our Shacks in the Woods 
Bernie" Murdock with an Improvised Helmet Washstand 



THE BIG PUSH 211 

And would you believe it? When I read the 
orders to those tired men, who had been hik- 
ing and working for ten hours, and who knew 
what those machine guns at Trugny meant, 
they cheered and shouted, "Come on — let's 
go. 

When orders were given to leave the kitchen 
and wagons behind, there was almost a mu- 
tiny among the cooks and stable crews. They 
came to me and begged to go into the fight. It 
was a spirit you could not overlook. I took the 
Mess Sergeant and all the cooks and all the 
stable crew I could. We had a few sick men 
and put them in charge of the kitchen and 
wagons under John O'Brien, who had to stay 
in charge of all our animals. 

About midnight we halted in a field to await 
a guide. I told the men to get all the rest they 
could until we moved again. It was a night 
not one of us will ever forget. Dark and 
gloomy. To add to our gayety it began to 
rain. 

Captain "Hi" Landon, our Battalion 



212 MY COMPANY 

Adjutant, an old crony of mine, sat with me. 
We leaned up against a tree and handed each 
other all sorts of little pleasantries. Neither 
spoke of the morrow. Gradually our chatter 
seemed to subside, and unconsciously each 
was wrapped in his own thoughts. 

Many people have asked how a man feels, 
what he thinks of, just before going into ac- 
tion, especially when he feels he is not coming 
back. I talked afterwards with many of my 
men about their feelings that night. They 
were all very much like mine. This is how 
men feel in a like situation. 

As they sat there that black, rainy night 
practically each soldier felt in his own mind his 
chances for another night on earth were very 
small. He thought of his career in France, and 
how fortunate he had been to stick it out as 
long as this. He thought of those at home and 
sent a silent message three thousand miles to 
them. He was n't afraid, had no feeling of 
hesitation or dread, but rather one of pride 
and honor to have this thing wished on him, 



THE BIG PUSH 213 

and a feeling of "Thank God, I'm here, I'm 
fit, and I'm in Uncle Sam's uniform. The 
only place in the world for me this night is 

right here." 

It was not bravado, not false courage, but 
the spirit of the American soldier among these 
men. Above everything else my thoughts 
seemed to concentrate on an intense desire 
for my company to put up a gallant fight and 
win a glorious victory when the gong sounded 
for zero hour. I looked down that line of 
splendid men lying behind the stacked rifles. 
I knew their thoughts were the same as mine, 
and I knew they were ready and that no boche 
living could compare with these men. Then 
I went to sleep and dreamed of eating mince 
pie at Thompson's Spa in Boston. 

We were rudely awakened an hour later 
by Major Greenway returning with our 
guide. 

"Let 's go ! " again. We shook off the water 
and started. We marched through fields and 
woods for a mile or more. Then our guide 



214 MY COMPANY 

coolly announced that he was lost. The Ma- 
jor, with his wonderful knowledge of the ter- 
rain, and his uncanny sense of direction, took 
over the guiding himself and led us on. 

Each company had brought one tool wagon 
with picks and shovels. We now distributed 
them to the men, sending the wagons back. 
Sapper Engineers have a very warm regard 
for these articles, especially when taking a 
position under fire in the open. The lesson of 
digging and digging fast is one of the great 
lessons of this war. Major Chase always said, 
"It's ninety-five per cent digging and five 
per cent fighting." 

I gave the whispered command to pass 
down the line. "Follow me in single file, 
keep one hand on the man in front — For- 
ward!" 

That long, quiet column of serious men 
wound through more woods. Then out into a 
clearing. The whirr of machine guns told us 
we were in front of Trugny. I ordered the 
men to lie down in a fringe of woods and dig 



THE BIG PUSH 215 

themselves in. To accelerate their work, the 
huns began throwing "77V (shells) at us. 
They landed in front of us and right behind 
us, so close our nostrils were filled with smoke. 
Then to make our work still more efficient 
they opened up machine-gun fire in front and 
on our flank. 

It was now 3 a.m. We were to "hop" with 
the regiment of Infantry at 3.45. I was get- 
ting worried, for no Infantry was around. 
Five, ten, fifteen minutes went by. I could 
stand it no longer. I had to find that Infan- 
try. I had left Denny Brunton on the last 
hitch to carry a message to the Major, and 
he apparently could not find us, so I had 
"Squeak' Harlow as my runner. I turned 
the company over to Lieutenant Palmer and 
called to Harlow, "I'm going out to see 
what 's what and who is around here.' : 

His lips tightened a bit as he saluted and 
replied, "Very good, sir, I'm with you/ 2 

'On your marks," I gave him. "Now, set, 
over the top "; and over we went. We went 



216 MY COMPANY 

forward as far as we dared; no one ahead ex- 
cept the enemy; we dashed to the left a way 
and ran into Captain Brush with his com- 
pany. He had found no one. 

'Eddie, our orders are to go over. What do 
you say we go over, anyway, without that 
regiment of Infantry?" 

'It sounds attractive," Eddie replied in his 
slow, quiet manner. "But our orders are to 
go under command of the Infantry Colonel." 

We discussed it and wisely decided Eddie 
was right, as usual, and that he would bring 
his company over near mine and I should 
hunt the Infantry. It was now approaching 
zero hour and we were in a serious situation. 
I searched for the Major, and finally found 
him with his Adjutant, Captain Landon, in 
a wheat-field just back of us. His P.C. was a 
little clump of wheat. He, too, had been un- 
able to locate the Infantry. I led him back to 
see my position. On our right we found one of 
our own machine-gun batteries. It was just 
getting light and the machine-gun Captain, a 



THE BIG PUSH 217 

most efficient man, pointed out the enemy 
guns in front. We could count fourteen nests 
of them. There were probably twice that 
number concealed. 

The Major looked it all over. "I'm con- 
vinced now, Captain, that it is physically 
impossible to take that position by a frontal 
attack. We've got to take it. We must get 
around on their flank." 

"Right-o," I heartily concurred; "but in 
the meantime had n't I better hunt farther 
for the Infantry?" 

He agreed and sent Captain Landon with 
me. Away over on our left we saw some 
troops. They proved to be the 103d and 
104th waiting for orders. Some French sol- 
diers came running through the woods still 
farther on our left. To my delight I spied an 
American soldier with them. It was Denny 
Brunton. After delivering his message he had 
searched for us. We had left. He did n't know 
where, but found a French company who were 
going over to take La Gonnetrie Farm. Brun- 



218 MY COMPANY 

ton felt his duty was to attack the enemy, so 
he attached himself to this French outfit and 
went over with them. 

They had met the same fierce machine-gun 
opposition that we had. Out of that French 
company only seven French soldiers and 
Denny Brunton came back. 

There was yet an unexplored wood on our 
extreme right. We made for that. Brunton 
was now chief runner, "Slim" Edwards and 
Harlow assistants. 

In that wood down a path were more In- 
fantry. They were the 102d at last. The Col- 
onel was sitting in a shell-hole surrounded 
by his staff. This was Colonel Parker — " Ma- 
chine-Gun" Parker they called him — a man 
full of fire and fight. This morning he was 
drenched through, his face drawn and a bit 
haggard, unshaven, and with the stain of the 
mud and smoke of battle. Eyes sleepy, but 
with the old-time fire burning in them. 

When I looked at these officers I began to 
realize that we ourselves were not the hand- 



THE BIG PUSH 219 

some heroes this morning that the folks at 
home pictured us to be. 

" Colonel, I have the honor to report that 
D Company is going on a party with you this 
morning.' ' 

"There ain't going to be no party," the 
Colonel quoted the Rube comedian. "My 
orders say the 101st will attack. I'm to re- 
main in support, as I 'm pretty well shot up. 
It would give me great pleasure, Captain, to 
have your society at a party, but I fear it 
will be 'demain.' Anyway, I'll send a runner 
back to Headquarters to check up our plans." 

I thanked him, promising to return to get 
the answering message. Then I searched for 
the 101st. Farther to our right, nearer Trugny, 
was a battered-up farm, 'Bretelle Farm." I 
decided to make for that and succeeded. An 
outpost there said they thought a battalion of 
the 101st was in the woods on the right across 
the road. This road was swept by machine- 
gun fire. Remembering old Bob Davis back 
at Pinon Forest, I cried to the runners, 



220 MY COMPANY 

"Nothing down here but machine guns; 



come on.' : 



By dashing across the road we could ap- 
proach the woods from the rear unobserved. 
There, sure enough, was Captain Joe McCon- 
nell's battalion. He had the same idea as 
Major Greenway as to the attack. He was 
creeping up on the enemy's flank. It was a 
pleasure to me to find Joe's outfit here. He 
was formerly a Corporal in my company 
back home, and as capable and heroic an offi- 
cer as any in France. Joe was afterwards 
killed leading his battalion in another similar 
attack. 

This flank movement looked awfully good. 
I worked my way back to Major Greenway, 
reporting all my findings. He ordered me to 
take the company around to the right, get up 
on the flank, and join the Infantry. My com- 
pany had dug themselves nice little homes and 
were nearly all sleeping despite the din around 
us. It seemed tough to rout them out, but 
"C'est la guerre." 



THE BIG PUSH 221 

The journey around to that right flank was 
exciting for all of us. We rested at the Farm a 
short time for the enemy to quit shelling be- 
tween us and the woods. We seized the oppor- 
tunity for the men to get a bit of "canned 
Willy" and hardtack from their emergency. 
Soon we were able to make the woods and 
took position with the Infantry there. 

We were now right up against those pesky 
machine-gun nests, but on their flank, and our 
guns were going at them from the front. The 
fire from along our line was telling on them, 
too. Things were looking better for us. The 
German position was becoming harder to 
hold and our fire finally drove them out, and 
the next morning we went into Trugny. 

It was most interesting to us to go over 
that town we had been watching at a distance 
from many sides and with longing eyes. There 
were German dead everywhere. Our fire had 
been accurate! By one machine-gun nest we 
found a pail filled with manure and water. 
The hun apparently had been dipping his 



222 MY COMPANY 

bullets in it, poisoning them. Here's hoping 
he was one of those we buried. 

Our boys were joyous, inspected all the 
ruined buildings, being careful to look for 
"man traps," counted the enemy dead, and 
picked up relics of the fight. The usual stench 
of a hard-fought battle impregnated the 
place, the stench of smoke, filth, gas, and 
dead bodies. Working parties were sent out 
to bury the dead. Some of my men reported 
that two of the machine gunners buried were 
women ! 



CHAPTER XII 

STILL PUSHING 

These "man traps" we looked out for here 
were ingenious devices of the huns for killing 
us after they had retreated. We first saw them 
in the Soissons sector. I was walking through 
Pinon Forest with Captain Poiteau. I no- 
ticed on the ground a pretty little metallic 
disc about two inches in diameter. I started 
to pick it up to examine it when Poiteau seized 
my arm. "Don't touch! — it will blow you 
to pieces." 

The huns strew these little discs behind 
them in a retreat, even drop them from planes. 
There's a bomb underneath which explodes 
when one steps on the disc, and, as the men 
say, one goes "Bluey, Bluey." In this last ad- 
vance many kinds of traps were reported and 
we were given orders as to handling them. 

In houses and dugouts all sorts of contriv- 



224 MY COMPANY 

ances were found — doors, chest drawers, 
and entrances when opened exploded mines; 
branches camouflaging entrances to dugouts 
had wires supporting them; books and pam- 
phlets had strings tied to them; every possible 
use was made of wires and strings — all had 
mines attached. Sometimes you would see a 
protruding nail or a loose board. Don't step 
on it. There's a mine underneath. In the road 
there would be a mine gallery containing big 
shells. A wagon train going over will cause 
enough depression to explode them. Shovels 
or picks apparently thrown around at ran- 
dom were attached to explosives. Even their 
barbed wire strewn around the grass had mine 
attachments. 

There were dozens of other cases like these 
officially reported and hundreds more 'Joe 
Latrinksy" told about seeing, many of which 
were probably true. When troops were bury- 
ing German dead, mines concealed under the 
bodies exploded. This worried us some, for 
our undertaking business had grown con- 



STILL PUSHING 225 

siderably. The story of the cat we under- 
stood was afterwards printed in the States 
and 'Joe' had it pretty straight over there. 

An officer with a detail going into an aban- 
doned town was passing a church. He heard 
a cat crying. On investigating he found the 
poor animal hung by its hind legs on the 
altar. The officer immediately cut the string 
to release it, and he was blown to pieces. 

Another one "Joe' claims is true is the 
story of the piano. A company of Infantry 
went into an evacuated town. In searching 
for billets for the night, they found a fine 
grand piano in good condition. Now, in every 
company there's a soldier who can beat out 
the ragtime for his Buddies. That soldier in 
this company was seized by the others and a 
concert followed. "It's a long way to Berlin, 
but we '11 get there," and many other stirring 
ballads were loudly applauded. But every 
time that boy struck a key on the piano, with- 
out knowing it he blew up a mine in another 
part of the town and killed his own comrades ! 



226 MY COMPANY 

It was difficult for us to conceive of a human 
mind so filled with the desire for maiming 
and killing as to invent all of these ingenious 
devices. 

That night we went to Bretelle Farm to 
sleep. "Skeeter" Lyman, on the job as usual, 
"cherched' the kitchen and got his rations. 
John O'Brien brought up his wagon train 
with our supplies. Lieutenant Charlie Bate- 
man reported with his platoon. We had won 
the day. The war looked very attractive to 
us all. 

During a drive like this, one sees some stir- 
ring sights, some exhilarating beyond meas- 
ure, others that tear at your very heart- 
strings. 

Captain Brush and I sat in a clump of woods 
looking at a pretty little town just across the 
way on a hill. In there were much enemy 
stores and artillery. Suddenly our "155" 
long batteries in the rear began to roar. We 
saw every shot register perfectly on that town 
— houses toppling over, earth and debris 



STILL PUSHING 227 

blown into the air. Then with a tremendous 
explosion the air was filled with wreckage. 
We had hit an ammunition dump ! 

Major Greenway and his company com- 
manders were lying on the parapet of a trench 
watching the bombardment of Fere-en-Tar- 
denois, an important enemy railroad center, 
and one that they held on to tenaciously un- 
til we flanked it. 

That American shell-fire was beautiful. 
Big ones landing everywhere. Faster, faster, 
faster they came. The roar was deafening. 
The Major was a study. His big athletic fig- 
ure was tense with excitement. He suddenly 
jumped up, waved his arms, and yelled, "Give 
'em hell, Yanks!" — cheering like a wild col- 
lege boy watching the pigskin going over the 
enemy's goal. The cheering was not confined 
to the Major, either. 

At another place our Infantry was ad- 
vancing across a field. They were fairly well 
closed in. We were lying in the field to the 
right watching and admiring these fine lads 



228 MY COMPANY 

of our own flesh and blood. To our horror, a 
big shell landed squarely in the line. The 
smoke slowly cleared away. We saw men 
running, some starting to run and then fall- 
ing, others staggering and crawling like poor 
injured animals, and some lying perfectly 
still. 

This warfare of movement entails many 
serious and difficult problems not encoun- 
tered in a warfare of position. All the laws of 
keeping off roads in daylight, moving in small 
groups, keeping out of sight, have to be for- 
gotten. There is the problem of moving 
troops quickly to take full advantage of a suc- 
cessful fight, the problem of getting artillery 
up to more forward positions, of getting up 
wagon trains of supplies and food. They 
simply have to go. 

Standing by a farm during the advance, I 
watched a column of men moving forward like 
that, closed up, with wagons and supplies. 
Then came a rain of shells falling everywhere 
around us. As I watched the close column, a 



STILL PUSHING 229 

shell landed. Wagons, animals, and men were 
blown everywhere. The smoke lifted. It was 
heartrending to see that big vacant space in 
the column. 

The nights were most wonderful of all. The 
sky ablaze with lights of every kind and color 
— flares, rockets, bombs, and bursting shells. 
Our artillery flashes everywhere, and our 
shells bursting along the whole line. The 
whole front seemed to be one big red glare. 
Night after night the huns would set fire to 
the towns and villages and even woods. They 
seemed to want to destroy every single thing 
before we pushed through. Then every little 
while a tremendous blaze would burst forth 
when they blew up their ammunition dumps. 
It was all one grand inferno of destruction, 
roar, and flame. 

The battles in the air were marvelous to be- 
hold. We had seen many before, but none 
quite like these. The fleets were larger, and 
during this advance they flew lower than we 
had ever seen them. We had a very large 



230 MY COMPANY 

number of balloons. They moved forward 
behind the troops on each advance. 

Near Etrepilly we counted eleven obser- 
vation balloons in a long arc. It was a beau- 
tiful sunny day. Ten enemy planes came like 
a whirlwind for those "sausages." Our avia- 
tors were ready, rose quickly, and went for 
them. We ducked for cover, for the action was 
right over our heads. Lead was falling around 
us. Our eyes were glued on that wonderful 
sight. The balloons at once began to descend. 
One boche left the fleet and blew up one of 
the balloons. That seemed to be the only 
damage we suffered. Two of our planes ma- 
neuvered beautifully, getting above their ad- 
versaries and driving them down in flames. 
The other hun aviators immediately turned 
and raced for bocheland with our planes in 
full pursuit. 

When we were at Bretelle Farm there were 
two of our "sausages " near us. One day three 
French planes appeared. Much to our con- 
sternation they ran up to our "sausages," 



STILL PUSHING 231 

shot incendiary bullets into them, watched 
them burst, and hurried across the enemy 
lines. They were captured planes manned 
by Germans. 

This "dirty boche trick," as the men called 
it, was atoned for later. A whole fleet of 
German observation planes came over. Our 
boys went after them, and we had the pleas- 
ure of seeing four enemy planes fall in flames. 
The men go wildly enthusiastic over these 
battles in the air. When an enemy plane is 
downed, they cheer madly. 

After this fight one of our aviators flew low 
over our farm. The men gave him a great 
ovation, waving everything they could grab 
and yelling. He waved back to us like a 
conquering hero. 

In one place there was an American bat- 
tery of 75's right back of us. The gunners had 
no protection against enemy fire — just had 
to sit and take it. One day this battery was 
being heavily shelled. Every few minutes a 
regular joyous American cheer would burst 



232 MY COMPANY 

forth from them. Then we would know a 
" dud " (unexploded shell) had landed. 

At the farm there was much cleaning-up of 
debris, removing of walls and pushing-up 
of roofs before we could find room enough to 
sleep the men. But they were accustomed to 
unusual resting-places and soon were enjoying 
their first real sleep in forty-eight hours. The 
next day seemed to be a stand-off with the 
boches. The roads through Trugny were 
badly shot up. Ammunition and wagons had 
to come up to feed and supply us. We again 
tackled the road-repair job. No unions over 
there. We worked an eleven-hour day. 

At night we came back to the farm a fairly 
tired crew. Just after mess, Lieutenant- 
Colonel Crecelius drove in with important 
news. The enemy were retreating in front of 
us. Five thousand French Cavalry had just 
been brought up and in the morning were to 
make a dash on our left through the woods 
to turn the retreat into a rout. 

There was an old wood road extending 



STILL PUSHING 233 

about eight kilometers that had to be cleared 
for this cavalry dash. We were elected "the 
people's choice." The whole battalion was to 
go out. The company commanders drew lots 
for their sector. Captain John Langley drew 
the first end of the road, I the middle, and 
Captain Brush the farther end. He was in 
luck, after all, for more than half of his sector 
was still hun territory and he could n't work 
efficiently there. 

I ordered the company out, gathered them 
around me, and explained what an important 
job we had, how it might mean the turning- 
point in this whole attack, and that this drive 
we were in was perhaps the crucial point of 
the whole war. The men were weary and 
sleepy, but they seemed to get a "second 
wind." Usual cries of "Let's go!" and we 
were marching away again. The boches ap- 
parently had a kick left, for they shelled us 
before we could get to our part of the road. 
No damage to us, but they killed an Artillery 
officer and some of his men right next to us. 



234 MY COMPANY 

As we kept on, some more shelling came. 
Some one cried, "The damned huns put an- 
other quarter in the meter; we're going to get 
gas." 

Sure enough it came. While getting their- 
masks on, some men were affected, and I sent 
them back for treatment. Sergeants Allan 
Milliken and Joe Youlden got it, but said 
nothing. It developed the next day and they 
were sent to hospital, so that was the last I 
saw of those two hard-working, faithful boys. 
I pray they are back with the company by 
this time. 

Despite these difficulties, the boys worked 
unceasingly and well. By morning that road 
was in good shape and passable its whole 
length. When we called a halt, the men lay 
down. No one needed to be rocked to sleep 
that morning. 

Apparently the cavalry work had been un- 
pleasant for the enemy. Soon we were or- 
dered forward again. The town of Beau- 
vardes had just been evacuated. We marched 



STILL PUSHING 235 

beyond it to a thick wood. The men started 
to pitch tents, gather leaves for their beds, 
and make themselves generally comfortable. 
The other officers and I made a trip around 
the wood trying to find better conditions. To 
our delight we discovered a little hun village 
of dugouts they had just left. There were 
streets laid out, tables built, and enough dug- 
outs for the whole company. They had 
bunks, log sides, and roofs, and everything 
cozy for a fall season in the woods . ' ' Skeeter " 
Lyman found a fine place for the kitchen and 
food supplies. Eddie Walker got all his wag- 
ons and equipment camouflaged close by, and 
John O'Brien established as fine a picket line 
as we had had. 

We really felt very grateful to the huns for 
all these things they had built to make our 
stay pleasant. Yet the boys refrained from 
giving the company cheers for them. 

Work was ready for us in bounteous quan- 
tities. The roads were in terrible condition. 
The accuracy of our own shell-fire was a joy 



236 MY COMPANY 

to us, in spite of our work in filling in the big 
cavities made. We had registered hits every- 
where, especially on important points; and 
cross-roads. In one place at the junction of 
two important roads, our artillery had made 
a clean hit with a very large shell. The hole 
must have been fifteen feet deep and thirty 
feet wide. The cross-roads was just a big hole. 

The men were becoming experts in military 
road repairing. The roads, in all directions 
soon showed the result of their work. A day 
or two before this we saw at a distance a big 
body of American troops coming up the line. 
"Joe" shouted: "It's our relief! Hurrah!" 

Our Division had been going now for ten 
days, fighting and working our way straight 
through the enemy lines. All of us — the In- 
fantry, who had fought nobly, Artillery and 
Machine-Gun men, and all the rest — were 
beginning to show the strain. Some were al- 
most at the breaking point. How they needed 
a rest ! Our Yankee Division had gone eight- 
een and one half kilometers against the enemy 








CO 

P 

« 

O 

H 

a 
o 

o 
a 

m 

P 

n 

w 
o 
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H 



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STILL PUSHING 237 

and had won in the first American advance 
of the war. In our Regimental Headquarters 
there had been a sign hung up many months 
back — 

" GET THE HUN ON THE RUN " 

Now the artist pasted an O over the E in 
" get " - 

" GOT THE HUN ON THE RUN " 

I told you that back in May and June 
our boys were disheartened and discouraged. 
They needed offensive action, to get up 
against the enemy and try and drive them 
back. Now they had had just that thing. 
They had been up against the hurts and had 
licked them. The whole aspect of life and 
things, the whole idea of the war, changed in 
the minds of my boys, in the minds of every 
man in our Division, and in the entire Ameri- 
can Expeditionary Force over there. For 
them the end of the war was in sight. Every 
man felt and knew he was the master of any 
three or four boches that ever lived. They 



238 MY COMPANY 

knew they had licked the enemy, that they 
could lick him any time they went after him. 
With that feeling came a great joy to every 
one of these men, the joy of winning — the 
joy of Victory! 



CHAPTER XIII 
GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 

"Joe" was right. The Division was to be 
relieved by this new Division fresh and ready 
to keep "the hun on the run." Great joy 
around our camp. Then orders came to this 
effect: — 

"The Division will be relieved except the 
Artillery and Engineers, who will push ahead 
with the new Division." 

Big glooms chasing little joys off the map. 

"Cheer up, everybody," old Bob Turner 
would say. "We're so bloomin' good they 
can't win the war without us; consider your- 
selves complimented." 

Our next objective was La Croix Rouge 
Farm. The line of attack when the push 
started was almost due north; now we were 
moving to the east after the retreating enemy. 
The boches were occupying the woods to the 



240 MY COMPANY 

southwest of the farm, but were quickly- 
driven out of there, abandoning the farm as 
well. The next day we moved into those 
woods to clean them up and bury the dead. 
This time I took ten mounted wagoners, send- 
ing them ahead as a "cavalry screen." They 
were followed by the company going forward 
in four waves of skirmishers at wide intervals. 
The horsemen would find a body and report it 
to the nearest Corporal of the first wave, and 
that squad would officiate at the obsequies. 
In this way we combed those woods com- 
pletely. In one place we found sixteen horses, 
all killed during the night by one burst of 
shrapnel. 

Even a distasteful task like this has its hu- 
morous incident. Most of the American dead 
were wrapped completely in blankets. We 
found one poor fellow covered in this way. 
The boys started to dig his grave, and the 
Corporal went to get the dead man's tag, when 
the man suddenly came to life, jumped up, 
and protested. Like Mark Twain, he claimed 




Our Cavalry 




Our Pack Mules, the "Buckskins," with Denny Moore 
and Wild West Kenny 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 241 

the reports of his death were greatly ex- 
aggerated. Our boys insisted that his grave 
was all ready and he was a dead one. He 
explained how he had wrapped up in this 
blanket, dead with exhaustion, and his com- 
pany had gone ahead, forgetting about him. 
We had to excuse him from the ceremony. 

On our left, Fere-en-Tardenois still held 
out. The French were working upon our left; 
we were trying the right flank. When the 
town fell — we figured it would be soon — 
the Artillery were to go forward rapidly to 
new positions. The main road to Fere was in 
very bad shape. We hustled over there one 
day, working from Beauvardes up to the re- 
verse slope of a high rise. On that rise we 
were in full view of the enemy in Fere. It was 
necessary to see how the road was beyond 
this rise, so I crept along the ditch for about 
three hundred yards, finding five or six 
shell-holes. Beyond that it seemed passable. 
I went back, gathered the men together, and 
drew a little sketch showing where each hole 



242 MY COMPANY 

was. I detailed a non-commissioned officer 
and his squad to each hole. Then we found 
some old French carts, filled them with stones, 
and drew them up behind the crest of this rise. 
We rested a moment, all took a good deep 
breath, then, like a crowd of kids at play, 
drawing the carts along, we dashed over the 
top, with a whoop, in full view. 

Each squad ran to its allotted shell-hole, 
some poured in rock, others made a crown of 
dirt. My ! how fast those boys worked ! The 
enemy saw us and opened up with one- 
pounders. Their range was poor. We stuck 
to it, finishing the job, and got back without 
a scratch. 

Every day or night some thrilling job like 
this was wished on us. The pleasure of mak- 
ing good at whatever it might be, and the 
excitement incident to it, kept us all buoyed 
up with enthusiasm. And best of all, the 
huns kept going back constantly and we ad- 
vancing. Only one night after this did they 
bother us much. This night several planes 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 243 

flew over the works where we were sleeping 
and dropped countless bombs. 

Now, shells are pretty bad, yet you have a 
chance to duck or dig in. With bombs you 
just have to sit and take it. They sound so 
blamed familiar, so close by, and their ex- 
plosion is terrifying. These bombs seemed to 
be dropping right on top of us. Actually they 
fell several hundred yards away and did con- 
siderable damage to the Infantry near by. In 
one company alone there were one hundred 
and sixty-four casualties from one bomb. 

Every day Major Greenway kept up his 
study of the terrain. He went everywhere and 
many times honored me by taking me along. 
When our Infantry was relieved, a new brig- 
ade was to come in on our left. The Major 
and I, the night before they came in, went 
over to the sector they were to occupy. It 
was just in front of a stretch of railroad which 
the enemy held strongly. There was a crest 
perhaps four hundred yards from the railroad 
and a slope from there to it. It was possible 



244 MY COMPANY 

to crawl along the reverse slope of this rise, 
but if a fellow appeared for a moment on the 
crest, it was R.I.P. for him. 

That night the Major told me that this new 
brigade was to "hop off" that crest the next 
morning and that our General had delegated 
him to go with them as guide. Much to my 
delight he added, "You know this terrain 
also, Captain, so I want you to go with me." 
We reported to General Cole's Headquar- 
ters, met the General of the attacking brig- 
ade, and got the "dope.' : The hour of attack 
was to be 8.30 a.m. We found the Infantry all 
ready, pointed out the positions and various 
places of interest to their officers, crawled up 
on the reverse slope of the crest, and await- 
ed developments. The Infantry battalions 
moved forward. They were splendid fellows: 
just over, and in their first battle. All seemed 
eager and happy to be in it at last. Onward 
and onward they moved, straight up to the 
crest. We held our breath. They arrived on 
the crest. As they stood there silhouetted 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 245 

against the bright sky, they offered a target 
no one could miss. 

"My God!' Greenway exclaimed, "it's 
going to be hell!" 

But, no, the line moved forward, and exe- 
cuted, out in No Man's Land, what we said 
afterwards looked like an evening parade and 
a couple of guard mounts. On they went and 
rested on the railroad. They had taken their 
objectives without firing a shot. 

Happily for us all, the enemy had retreated 
during the night. 

At last Fere-en-Tardenois had fallen. Our 
next objective was Fismes. 

We had now been in the line, fighting our 
way through and advancing, for sixteen days 
and nights. Our Engineers had been in just 
six days after the Infantry had been relieved. 
We naturally wondered about our relief. 

"Joe' said, "The Engineers are to be held 
in the line until the evacuation of Berlin." 
He was wrong. On August 3d we were 
near Fismes, when our orders came. Great 



246 MY COMPANY 

excitement and returning of the joys. We 
were ready in jig time. For the first time in 
months we were marching away from the 
enemy. The men were full of spirits at the 
prospect of a rest. They laughed and sang. 
"Over There" was a favorite now, only they 
sang it " Over Here/ 5 shouting the last line 
con expressione, "We won't go home till it's 
over over here." 

Late in the afternoon we marched into 
Chateau Thierry. We had been there six 
months before coming back from Soissons. It 
was a much-changed city now. The work of 
the huns was seen everywhere — houses de- 
molished, wanton destruction of public build- 
ings, and everything ransacked. 

One of the most pathetic sights to us was 
when the French people came back to their 
homes in these ruined towns we had re- 
leased from German occupation. When the 
invader came through, these poor people left 
their pretty homes — their all in worldly 
belongings — still intact. Now there would 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 247 

be nothing but a pile of stones and debris — 
complete ruin and destruction. 

We saw one old lady — a little dog her 
sole companion — come into Torcy. She sat 
down on a stone and looked at what was once 
her home. Apparently she had felt it would 
still be there. Her poor old body shook with 
sobs. Everything completely ruined — every- 
thing gone. Not a thing left in the world for 
her. 

We saw thousands of such pictures. Some- 
how Home was the thing uppermost in their 
minds. Just as soon as a town was cap- 
tured, these people would begin to stream 
back. Some were simply stunned ; others gave 
way to their emotions when they saw the 
destruction and ruin of their homes and 
the towns wrecked by the retreating huns. 

It was most pathetic, too, when a town 
where civilians lived was shelled. The women 
would almost go frantic — simply overcome 
with terror. Soldiers are supposed to be 
shelled and to suffer hardships, but it did 



248 MY COMPANY 

seem tough on these poor women to have to 
endure such things. 

Our boys would always try to comfort 
them. They'd laugh at the shelling and ex- 
plain to the poor people it would soon be over 
and amounted to nothing. Our men were 
marvels to these people. They could n't un- 
derstand our apparent indifference to shell- 
fire — our smiles and even laughter at the 
boche efforts. 

The French soldiers, too, always admired 
the Yank's goodnature and smiling attitude. 
They said, "The American is a great soldier; 
he digs with his left hand, fights with his right, 
and laughs all the time." 

On the side of the hill was a large convent. 
It was shot up pretty badly, yet made fairly 
good quarters. Our whole regiment was bil- 
leted there that night. My company had the 
top floor. The rooms were just one mass of 
stuff — bedding, feminine attire of all kinds, 
furniture, crockery, strewn everywhere. The 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 249 

huns had pulled out everything and appar- 
ently taken anything of value. It was laugh- 
able to see our barrack that night. Some 
men had old beds with high sides, some 
huge box mattresses, others arranged feminine 
attire of delicate material for a soft, warm 
bunk. 

Just before mess, I entered one of the large 
dormitory rooms. The First Platoon were 
lined up for parade, every man in skirts, or 
waists, or bonnets perched on the side of their 
heads, each Corporal carrying a parasol as a 
mark of his distinguished position. After all 
these boys had been through, after a hard 
day's hike, they still had the American boys' 
spirit of fun. 

Down the winding Marne Valley the next 
day was as beautiful a trip as one could find 
in the world. We thoroughly enjoyed the 
scenery until the last stages of the trip, when 
the long, hard pull of twenty-four kilometers 
began to tell on us. We passed many fresh 
troops going up. Our boys laughed when they 



250 MY COMPANY 

saw these new troops. Now many miles back 
of the lines, with their masks at the alert posi- 
tion, "Andy" Huppler alarmed them by 
shouting, "Get your masks ready, there's gas 
along here." And others increased their dis- 
comfort by a warning message, "They're 
shelling the road up here; get ready for it." 
Of course, no gas or shells within a dozen 
miles. 

Our home now was Nanteuil-sur-Marne. A 
day off for rest and to get well settled, then 
drilling. Now, if there's one thing a soldier 
just back from the trenches detests, it 's doing 
" squads right and squads wrong " eight or 
nine hours a day. We made it as interesting 
as possible for the men by putting in games; 
then we had a field day and ball games. Yet, 
at that, the sentiments of John Pendleton 
were echoed by most of the men — "Wish 
they'd send us back to the trenches, so we 
could get a rest." 

Ten days of this, then back to Chateau 
Thierry again. This time, however, we were 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 251 

not ticketed for the trenches, but our "8 
Chevaux, 40 Hommes' Pullmans took us 
a day later into Chatillon, back still farther 
to the rear. 

Just outside the city we pitched our tents 
in a field, got the old kitchen going, animals 
watered, and men cleaned up, and spent a 
most delightful night. Off at six in the cool of 
the morning, we hiked until late in the after- 
noon. As we passed through towns in our 
area, companies would drop out of the regi- 
mental line and remain in the town where 
they were billeted. We were the last of all, 
and alone marched into Chemin d'Aisey. 

Nelson Fisher, our expert billeting Ser- 
geant, had gone ahead to arrange our homes. 
Everything was all ready. The men had good 
clean barns, but many preferred to sleep in 
the open, so pitched tents in the fields. We 
were the first American troops ever seen in 
this town. All the inhabitants were out in 
force to greet us. They had heard of Chateau 
Thierry. They knew we were returning from 



252 MY COMPANY 

the fray there. They made conquering heroes 
of us. Those good people brought out buckets 
of fresh milk and bread. They gave us straw 
for every man. And when we tried to pay 
them, they refused the money, saying, 
"Demain." But "demain" it was the same 
thing. 

The French were the same everywhere — 
good, clean, wholesome folk that loved 
America and American soldiers next to their 
own beautiful country and their own de- 
lightful people. Our boys are just as keen 
for them, too. 

The company now w r as very much changed 
from the company that left Boston nearly 
a year before. All of the original officers 
but myself were gone, transferred, sent as 
instructors to school or back to the States. 
First Sergeant Brad Jones had been com- 
missioned in Infantry and had been killed 
in July. Bob Davis was now a Master Engi- 
neer. Oscar Bohlin, Bob Swain, and Harold 
Hayes had received commissions. It was 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 253 

hard to lose men like these from the com- 
pany, but we were glad to see them become 
officers. Our Non-Coms had changed a good 
deal, and we had received more than a hun- 
dred replacements. The older men had taken 
these new men in hand, and all soon had the 
same D Company spirit that had prevailed 
for so long a time. 

In this town we found a poor French wo- 
man, a refugee from the northern sector, 
where the huns had destroyed her home and 
all, while her husband was fighting. Here 
she was living in a little room in an aban- 
doned house. Top Sergeant Gagnon found 
her and took me in to meet her. There was 
not a thing there but two old trundle-beds, in 
one of which were three little children, the 
oldest ten, in the other a fourth child, while 
the baby, about two, was in her arms. And 
nothing to eat! The boy, ten, supported the 
family. He left at seven each morning, walked 
three miles, and worked all day in a mill, re- 
ceiving eleven cents a day. It was pathetic 



254 MY COMPANY 

to us to see the poor woman just at dusk go 
down the road through the woods to meet 
her little boy so he would n't be afraid. You 
may be sure that bounteous meals for six 
were served at least three times a day by my 
boys all the time we were there. Then the 
boys passed the word around about laundry. 
The woman had so much of it she was figuring 
on hiring assistants when we left. They paid 
her well, and the little boy cut out his mill 
job for a while, too. 

Usually, in striking a new town, after billet- 
ing the men, one of the first duties of a com- 
pany officer was to investigate the cafe and 
liquor situation. Now, I want to tell you about 
the conditions regarding liquor in our Army 
over there. I find it is very much misunder- 
stood. This case in Chemin d'Aisey is typical. 
There was one cafe in town. Now, a cafe over 
there cannot be compared to anything in our 
country. This one was run by a kind elderly 
woman. It was something like a country 
store. She sold little articles of clothing, 




Our Last T. S.: First Sergeant Malcolm W. Gagnon, ready 

for Gas or Anything 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE %>5 

knicknacks such as needles and thread, candy, 
and other things as well as wine. I explained 
the orders about selling liquor to soldiers, and 
she, like all other people there, obeyed them 
religiously. No liquor of any kind could be 
sold or given to a man in uniform except be- 
tween the hours of five and eight-thirty at 
night. And at no time could hard liquor be 
sold. They were allowed to sell beer or light 
wines ("vin ordinaire"). Whiskey, gin, and 
drinks of that kind are unknown. 

The French are not a drinking nation in our 
sense of the term. They nearly all drink wine, 
but drink it and use it almost as we do water. 
In a year in France I can honestly say I never 
saw a French man or woman intoxicated. 
Even these light wines that were obtainable 
at night very few of the men seemed to care 
for. Nothing of this nature was ever a part 
of the ration issue in our service as in some of 
the foreign armies. Such a thing as a "rum 
ration " before an attack is unknown. In fact, 
rum is absolutely forbidden in any form. In 



256 MY COMPANY 

short, the drinking in our Army in France is 
practically a negligible quantity. A man in 
the service, as regards the liquor problem, is 
a hundred times better off over there than in 
his own country. 

Our General Edwards, before we went to 
our first front, addressed our regiment in his 
masterf ufcmanner. He talked about our morals, 
how the eyes of our loved ones were upon us. 
He told us of stories that were being spread 
about immorality in our Army, and showed 
how we must live all the cleaner lives to offset 
this German propaganda. He told us of a 
minister in Massachusetts who said to his con- 
gregation, "When these men come back from 
war, don't let your sisters or your daughters 
associate with them. They are too immoral, 
they're filled with vile diseases." 

An uglier falsehood was never spread 
abroad by any boche. The decency and 
purity of the men are remarkable. The "bete 
noir" of any army is venereal disease. In past 
wars some commands have been fifty to sixty 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 257 

per cent afflicted. In civil life, doctors say, 
twenty to thirty per cent of people have some 
form of sexual disease. 

When I was in staff work we had in our 
office the official daily and sick report of the 
whole American Expeditionary Force. Never 
in the time I was there was the percentage as 
high as one half of one per cent, and in June, 
1918, it was one nineteenth of one per cent. 
I '11 defy any one to find a record like that in 
the world. It's not due to prophylactic treat- 
ment, not due to the strict orders; it is due to 
the clean, wholesome, respectable lives those 
men are living. 

I've told you of the women of France and 
of their treatment of our boys, and I 've told 
you of the respect shown the French women 
by our men. The stories of the women of 
Rolampont, of Bettaincourt, of Chemin 
d'Aisey, are typical of every little French 
town where American soldiers are billeted. 
No greater respect and chivalry could be 
shown to their own mothers or sisters. And 



258 MY COMPANY 

yet stories are spread broadcast over this 
country of our "rough soldiers," their dis- 
orderly conduct with French women, Ameri- 
can soldiers' insults to women — all dirty lies 
and German propaganda. 

I've been with troops in France for one 
year, I've watched them closely, and I've yet 
to see an American soldier show anything but 
the deepest respect, the utmost chivalry, to 
any woman of France. If any one you know 
tells a different story, send him or her to me 
and I '11 make him prove his case. 

While in Chemin d'Aisey we received our 
fifth quota of replacement men. These were 
splendid fellows, mostly from the West, and 
made good soldiers. Our little company was 
changing a great deal. In some ways it was 
a good thing for us all. Now all thought of 
whether a man was of the selective draft, or 
in the service before the war, was gone. No 
longer was there a man of the National Guard, 
of the National Army, or of the Regulars. We 
were all the Army of the United States. All 





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GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 259 

wearing the U.S., working and fighting "one 
for all and all for one." 

The men seemed to enjoy the drilling while 
in this place. We tried to make it interesting 
in every way. We arranged several maneuver 
problems, part of the company being an enemy. 
The keenness of the men to win a decision was 
a joy to the officers. One time we had an all- 
day problem, fighting over again the battle 
of Trugny. Lieutenant Bateman took one 
platoon and fought a rear-guard machine-gun 
action. The rest of us went after them. We 
called them the huns. They called us the huns. 
It made the rivalry greater. 

A mile or two outside of town my forces 
were checked by a rapid-fire gun. We "lost 
heavily' before we could locate it. "Lon' 
Edwards, one of the enemy, was found with 
one of our "chau-chauts" under a haystack 
in the field to our left. We had horsemen for 
messengers — our wagoners. The way those 
boys rode would have filled a ranchman's heart 
with delight. Every man was as anxious to 



260 MY COMPANY 

win as if we were actually real enemies. We 
fought it out, and at noon decided to call it a 
draw. Then we went into the woods and each 
man cooked up his own mess. The pack- 
mules under old Bob Davis, now Master 
Engineer, brought bacon and potatoes and 
tomatoes. We had a feast fit for the gods. 

Coming back into our town at dusk, I 
brought the company to attention. Bob 
Turner bugled, "You're in the Army now," 
and we marched by the applauding townsfolk 
like the veterans we now felt we were. 

A few days later came the blow — to me. 

Colonel Bunnell sent for me. 

"Captain, I have news that will make you 
feel badly, I know, but it 's all for the good of 
the cause. I consider this a great compliment, 
and you must look upon it as such. You are 
ordered back to America to join a new Divi- 
sion and come back with it." 

My Colonel that morning treated me like a 
favorite brother, and gave me much of his 
wholesome advice and counsel. I did feel this 



GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 261 

sudden order as a compliment after his talk, 
but when I thought of my company and of 
leaving those boys forever, all the joy was 
taken out of life. Fortunately, I yet had a few 
days, as we were going to the front again. 

Many farewells to our good friends in 
Chemin d'Aisey, a hike to Chatillon, a long 
ride on the Tenth Century Limited, and it 
seemed no time at all before we were detrain- 
ing and hiking again back in the land of the 
"Big Doings." 

Just before we left Chemin d'Aisey, "Skeet- 
er" Lyman scoured the country for extra 
"chow." He came back with two sheep and a 
large quantity of new potatoes which he was 
able to buy from the farmers. 

On our hike, instead of "canned Willy," or 
"monkey meat," the company had as delec- 
table a fresh lamb stew as one could wish for. 
No one knew what conditions we should have 
at this front, so we made the most of that de- 
licious stew. We marched nights and rested 
in the woods in the daytime. 



262 MY COMPANY 

Now, approaching Verdun, "Joe" had it 
we were going to Saint-Mihiel and were to 
start something as we had done at Chateau 
Thierry. Again we heard the roar of the big 
guns, again saw the beautiful pyrotechnics at 
night. And it all brought back the same 
feeling of exhilaration we had experienced our 
first time at the front, away back in February. 

Then the fateful day for me came, the day 
I was ordered to leave. We were almost at 
Verdun, and it was especially hard to go un- 
der such circumstances. It was impossible to 
assemble the company as close up as this. I 
called all my Non-Corns together, shook each 
by the hand, and said farewell to them and 
through them to the men. 

As I rode away, they lined up for a part- 
ing salute. When I looked at those splendid, 
clean-cut, courageous men, realized all we had 
been through together, and thought of their 
loyalty and untiring efforts for our company 
and for me, a terrible feeling came to me. 
Something within seemed to rebel. It was an 



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GOOD-BYE, FRANCE 263 

effort to go on and leave those men for good 
and all. 

Sailing up New York Harbor, I stood on 
the forward deck of the largest ship afloat, 
the Leviathan. The old Statue of Liberty, at 
last, was a reality right in front of us. Steam- 
ers and tugs everywhere were making a noisy 
demonstration. People were waving from 
buildings and docks: a picture we all had 
dreamed of a thousand times. It was a won- 
derful and exciting scene. After a whole year 
away at war, I was again gazing at my own, 
my native land. My very heart and soul were 
stirred beyond words. Yet my heart went out 
to those lads over the seas, away up there 
fighting, perhaps dying. Those splendid, 
brave, gallant boys, the finest God ever 
made — the boys of My Company. 



THE END 



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